


The Undate

by The_Queen_In_The_North



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brienne Will Deny It But She Wants Jaime, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Jaime Lannister Wants Him Some Brienne, Romance, Sandor Clegane Wants Him Some Sansa, Sansa Stark Wants to Climb Sandor Like a Tree, Unprotected Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28063326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Queen_In_The_North/pseuds/The_Queen_In_The_North
Summary: Sansa Stark swears off dating just before she meets her latest date's roommate, Sandor Clegane.*This is a SanSan story with Braime sprinkled in*Modern/College AU
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Sandor Clegane & Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark & Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 228
Kudos: 499





	1. Chapter 1

_**SANSA** _

_This is the last time I ever go on a date,_ Sansa thought to herself, **_ever_ ** _._

Perhaps nineteen years old _was_ a bit too young to think such a thing, but the past two years of Sansa Stark's dating life had been, for lack of a better word, _miserable_ and pushed her to entertain the thought.

 _Why not? I can be single forever. I’m in college, I have my own job, I make my own money. I have plenty of hobbies that keep me busy. And, if I ever need comfort, I have my friends and siblings._

That was true, to a degree. There was _,_ after all, a specific sort of comfort only a lover could provide. But, as she drove her drunk date home after a forty-five minute disaster of a dinner, Sansa realized it may very well be time to give up the notion of finding a prince charming, a knight in shining armor, a _decent_ man. 

That wasn’t fair of her to say, she knew. The man she was driving home (in _his own car_ ) was not particularly an awful man, only somewhat self-absorbed and more than intrigued by her roommate, Brienne. _That’s what you get,_ Sansa told herself. _Y_ _ou wanted to show off how handsome he is to Brienne and now he seems to only be interested in her._

It did not matter. Jaime Lannister was not Sansa’s type - _at all_. He was handsome, yes, golden haired and green eyed, not to mention athletic and quite muscular, but never had she had such little chemistry with a man. Once he had picked her up for their date, no more than twenty words were said between the two. And then at dinner, after he had three glasses of Dornish whiskey and nearly drank himself into oblivion due to the terrible time they were having, he had only talked about sports - something Sansa knew very little about.

And, of course, he talked about Brienne.

“How tall is your roommate exactly?” he asked, as she drove them to his apartment after he’d drunkenly cursed out their waiter at the restaurant for having the ‘wrong sort of mustache’. 

“Um, she’s a little over six feet.”

“Fascinating,” he slurred. “Does she play any sports?”

“Basketball.”

“Ah, I do _love_ basketball.”

 _Never again,_ Sansa thought. _Never, ever, ever again._

Sansa turned into the circular driveway of his apartment. Luckily the front gate was already open, for Jaime had somehow managed to lose his keys while doing nothing other than sitting slumped in the passenger seat. As she passed the first building, he pointed and said, “Park here, Sara.”

“ _Sansa_ ,” she corrected him.

“No, _Jaime_.”

_Oh gods. Hurry and pick me up, Brienne._

After he spent several minutes searching for his keys (they had been in his back pocket the entire time), Sansa gave a terse goodbye and stood on the sidewalk to wait for her roommate. 

_Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,_ she thought, shivering in the evening breeze and trying to keep her dress flying up.

Jaime, instead of walking to his apartment, sat down in the lawn beside her and closed his eyes.

 _How can a man so irresponsible be the star of our university's football team?_ Sansa wondered. 

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“It seems...I cannot walk.”

Exasperated, Sansa sighed and walked up to him. _Never again, never again, never again._ “Hold on to my arm. I’ll help you up.”

“My roommate,” he slurred, then handed her the keys. “Go get my roommate. Room 1308. He’ll-” Jaime paused and made a grotesque sound, as if he were about to become sick. Sansa took a quick step back. “He’ll carry me up.”

The whole time she walked up the stairs, she thought, _Never. Ever. Ever. Ever. Again._

He’d given her his keys to unlock the door, except there were so many different keys on the ring she had no earthly idea which one to choose. Instead, Sansa made to knock on the door, until she noticed it was partially open. On the other side of the door, she could hear the artificial sound of men dying, accompanied by the sound of one man cursing. 

_The roommate_. Whatever video game he was playing, it was awfully loud. _He may not hear if I knock…maybe I should just go in._ He cursed again, louder that time, and said, “You fucking cocksucker! Pull that shit again and see if I don’t find out where you live and toss your console out your goddamn window!” 

_He is absolutely insane._ Sansa found herself giggling. When her amusement ended, she went ahead and pushed opened the door. 

She took three timid steps inside. The smell of their apartment was earthy, but fresh and pleasant. The dark-haired roommate was facing away from her, sitting on the couch in the living area with his elbows resting on his knees and a headset on, mashing every button on his controller as he played a game she recognized. _Storm of Swords,_ she remembered. _T_ _he game Jon and Robb used to play when I lived at home._

The door closed behind her; it must have been the draft. Just as soon as she made to speak, the roommate said, “Back already?”, then gave a bark of laughter. He never bothered to turn around. “What happened? She wouldn’t put out before dinner?”

 _And_ ** _very_ ** _uncouth._ Sansa narrowed her eyes at the back of his head, hoping they might pierce.

“I told you, Lannister,” his roommate went on, never looking away from television screen, “Girls as pretty as her don’t spread their legs unless you- FUCK!” he shouted, as the screen turned red. He must have died in his _ridiculous_ game. Sansa felt the urge to giggle again, but refused to forget his distasteful language.

 _Then again, he_ **_did_ ** _just call me pretty,_ she thought, assuming Jaime had shown him her profile picture on that dating app she had downloaded. No more dating now; she'd need to delete that. _And it's too_ _bad that words are wind._

It was out of line, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Unless you _what_?”

“Unless you-” He ripped the headset off his head at once, then dropped the controller onto the floor.

Another couple seconds passed before he arose from the couch. 

If Sansa had not been mindful of her expression, her jaw might have dropped to the floor.

He was _tall,_ taller than Jaime, taller than Brienne - so tall. _Seven feet,_ she thought, _at least._ If that weren't enough to put her in awe, he was very, very muscular too, wearing nothing but a white muscle tee that _clung_ onto him so nicely. 

_No. No more dating. None. Not ever._

And then, when he turned around to face her, Sansa realized she was, indeed, too young to have made such a stupid commitment.

In no way was he conventionally handsome. In fact, he was different from Jaime Lannister in every way possible. Taller, broader, somewhat darker skinned, thin dark hair that fell to his shoulders, a prominent nose, a heavy brow, and scars, so many scars, _deep_ scars on the left side of his face that trailed down to his throat.

He was _horrifyingly_ attractive.

While he was shamelessly eyeing her up and down, Sansa could feel her cheeks begin to burn.

 _Don't even think about it,_ she warned herself. _No more dating. You heard him! He is dirty-mouthed and short-tempered._

That did nothing but tempt her more.

She looked down at her feet. "Jaime is passed out on the lawn outside. He wanted me to ask you to carry him up."

It had only occurred to her then that Jaime could have _called_ his roommate on the phone. That is, if he hadn't lost that, too.

 _This could have been avoided,_ she thought, fussing with the tassel on her purse in hopes of appearing completely and totally _not interested_. Not interested whatsoever.

However, a part of her was glad it had not been avoided.

A part of her, meaning all of her.

He walked towards her in silence, his footsteps so heavy she could feel the floor beneath her feet vibrating ever slightly. She never did look up at him, but as he walked past, he said, "Wait here," then exited through the door.

He had a rough, deep voice. She hated that she liked that, too.

Why _does he want me to wait?_ she thought. That was strange. Nevertheless, she stayed. 

Based on first impressions alone, Sansa was surprised to find that their apartment was nothing short of immaculate. Everything was in its place, neat and tidy. Jaime did not seem like the sort of man, being sports-obsessed and unable to handle his liquor, to maintain a clean household, nor did his vulgar, gamer roommate seem to be the type. Maybe the roommate had a girlfriend who kept the place clean.

Sansa could not say why she cared, but that was an irksome thought.

Not a minute had passed before the roommate reentered and carried Jaime inside the apartment.

“Dammit, Lannister," he said, as he plopped him down onto the couch. "One of these days, I'm going to let you sleep out there all night."

Jaime sat up, with a drunk smile plastered on his face. “Clegane, this is Sarella.”

“Sansa!” she corrected him, with a hint of venom in her tone.

She noticed his roommate gradually begin to smirk at her response.

“Sansa. Yes, yes, sorry about that. Sansa, this is my truest and dearest friend, my brother from another mother, my-”

“Sandor,” he interrupted his blathering roommate. Unexpectedly, he walked forward and held out his hand. Sansa looked down at it. It was _massive._

She reached her hand out slowly, as if it were a snare trap, and then shook his hand. His grip was pure iron, and her hand all but disappeared in his own.

A plethora of thoughts passed through her mind just then, and each and every one of them would have made her mother blush red.

Sansa lifted her gaze and shared a moment with him. Scars, he had, but her eyes only gravitated to his own; they were grey, beautifully grey. She pulled her hand away and said, “Ok, well, bye,” then turned on her heel and walked out the door.

 _Ok, well, bye._ Sansa could have smacked herself. If her little sister Arya saw that, she’d never hear the end of it. _Who says such a stupid thing?_

She scurried down the steps, the same hand that had only recently been shrouded by the giant bear paw of one now softly brushing the cool, metal handrail as she descended, and thought to herself once more, _I’m never dating again. Not ever._

The wind was getting stronger, as was the chill in the air. Sansa wrapped her arms around herself, as she waited on the sidewalk for her roommate. Luckily, the building was nearest to the gate; she didn’t have to worry about Brienne passing her up.

Behind her, a door had closed shut, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Sansa did not dare look back.

“I can take you home,” the man named Sandor Clegane called out to her. 

It took her the entire time for him to walk forward and stand next to her before she could muster up a response. “My friend is already on her way. She should be here soon.”

“It’s cold out here. You can wait inside.”

“I’m not cold,” she said, as she shivered from the cold. 

She could not see him very well out of her peripheral vision, but she thought she heard him chuckle. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“I’m only trying to help.”

“Oh?” Remembering his vulgarity a moment ago, she said, “Is that what a man needs to do before a pretty girl spreads her legs for him?”

That _did_ make him laugh. “You’re hard work, aren’t you?”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Hard work,” he said, unwavering. When he smirked, his scars glistened in the moonlight. “That’s what you are.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“No, but I’d like to.”

She wasn't mindful that time, and her mouth dropped open.

Headlights approached, followed by three loud honks. Sansa turned around to find Brienne with the window rolled down, beckoning her over.

“Ok, well-”

“Bye,” he finished for her.

Sansa did not know whether he was mocking her or only doing something...endearing. Bemused, she stood there for a bit, until Brienne honked again.

“Sansa!”

Without saying another word to Sandor Clegane, she quickly crossed the lawn and jumped into the passenger seat of Brienne’s car. 

Her blonde roommate was eyeing him out the window, suspicious. “Who was that? Do you have your mace with you?”

Sansa took a moment before responding; she was absolutely breathless. “Jaime’s roommate. And yes, I have my mace.”

“ _Jaime_...what sort of man gets belligerently drunk on a first date?” Brienne shook her head and then drove off. “I knew he looked like an utter ass.”

She just about gasped. It was rare for Brienne to use such language. “His roommate is even worse.”

“Yeah?”

“Foul-mouthed, a bit _too_ forthcoming. And he has this sort of stare-”

“Oh no,” Brienne groaned.

“What?”

“You’re doing it again.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Doing what?”

“ _Praising_.”

“I am not! I’m telling you how awful he is.”

“Then how come you’re smiling while telling me how awful he is?”

Sansa paused. “Am I?”

Brienne gave her a sidelong glance and nodded. “Practically grinning.”

She was right; there was no point in denying it any longer. Jaime’s roommate, Sandor Clegane, _was_ crude, but he was also sweet and...charming? Or maybe he was only doing whatever it was men needed to do to get a pretty girl to spread her legs.

Whatever it was, it was working. 

Without giving it a second thought, Sansa said, “Let’s hang out with them.”

Brienne's foot grew heavy on the brakes. “ _Let’s_? As in the two of us? As in you _and_ me?”

Sansa giggled at her bewilderment. “Yes! Jaime brought you up several times. It seems like you made a good impression on him.”

“Lucky me,” she said with a frown. “You texted me thirty minutes ago saying you were done with dating.”

“This wouldn’t be a date. We can just…chill.”

“ _Chill_? Like how Willas Tyrell came over to _chill_ with you all those times?”

She let that slide, only because she was desperate. “Please, Brienne. It would be so awkward to go over there alone. If he tries anything, you can mace him for me.”

Apparently, that was all that was needed to convince her. “Alright, alright,” she surrendered, as she stopped at a red light. “As long as I can bring the mace.”

Sansa took out her phone from her purse. “I’ll text Jaime. Hopefully he’s not too drunk to-”

Her phone lit up and jingled, then she gasped.

“What is it?” asked Brienne.

Sansa unlocked her phone and read the text from her date. 

_'Heyyyy sorry bout tonite. Wanna come thru 2 watch the game tmrw? Bring ur roomie. The TALL ONE.'_

Speechless, Sansa handed the phone to her roommate, suppressing a beaming grin. 

“Why, he’s absolutely illiterate,” Brienne scoffed. “I can hardly read this.”

“Well, he _is_ drunk, TALL ONE.” Sansa flipped her long, auburn hair back and laughed. “I told you he likes you!”

“Yes, because nothing says ‘I fancy you’ like being called TALL ONE.” Brienne handed the phone back to her when the traffic light turned green.

“So, what should I say?” 

_Please say yes. Please say yes._

“Say yes, I suppose.”

Brienne answered that much faster than Sansa expected her to. If she didn’t know any better, she’d even say her roommate was eager. 

A smile blossomed on her lips. “You _want_ to go.”

“I’d rather not,” Brienne said, her sapphire eyes focused on the road. “But I do want to watch the game tomorrow. It’s the finals between the Direwolves and Golden Lions. At least that will give me something to do while you’re _chilling_ with his roommate.”

“Stop. We’ll all be chilling together.”

Brienne guffawed. “I certainly hope not!”

Sansa was in stitches, crying from laughing so hard. “Wow, Brienne. That’s not what I meant!” 

“Oh, that’s right. It’s _not_ a date. We’ll call it...an undate, then.”

“Exactly.” Sansa unlocked her phone once more and typed out a response. _‘We’ll come by,’_ the text read. _‘As long as your TALL roommate is there.’_ She smiled to herself, hesitated for a fleeting second, then lowered her thumb, pressing send. “An undate it is.”


	2. Chapter 2

**_SANDOR_ **

_No more one night stands_ , Sandor thought to himself, **_ever_ ** _._

At twenty-one years old, it was all he knew. Sandor would meet a girl, usually one Jaime had already slept with or deemed not worthy of his time, fuck her that same night, then never speak to her again. Hook-up culture. It was fine. He wasn’t the sort of person to open up to anyone besides Jaime, and he couldn’t blame girls for not wanting to date him. Sandor had his older brother to thank for that. Fourteen years later and he could still remember how it felt to have his head shoved into the blazing fireplace. He'd given up hope long ago of ever being in a committed relationship. And eventually, he had stopped caring about it all together.

That is, until he met _her_. 

He didn’t have a chance, not a single one. He knew that from the moment he saw her standing by the door and glaring at him for what he had said. She was different, he could tell, not only more beautiful than the rest, but there was a feistiness within her, one kept tame by her outwardly courteous behavior.

He _wanted_ her, and not just physically. He wanted her in every way there was to have her. It was a miracle Jaime had no interest in the girl, but that was probably because she wasn’t an airhead like all the others. Whatever the reason for them not getting along, Sansa Stark had entered his life.

And Sandor would be damned if it lasted only one night.

At the break of dawn, twelve hours before Sansa and her roommate would be coming by to watch the final football match of the season, he found a very hungover Jaime snoring on the couch. And, for whatever fucking reason, he was bare-ass naked.

“Wake up, Lannister.”

Jaime released a deep groan and rolled over, showcasing his pasty white ass. “Not today,” he mumbled, before resuming his snoring.

Without another word, Sandor walked into Jaime’s mess of a room, grabbed his running shoes, then threw them down onto his golden-haired head. 

Jaime startled awake. “Fuck, bro!”

“Get the fuck up, _bro_. We’re going for a run to sober you up, _bro_. Five miles.”

“Fuck you.”

“Alright, let’s make it ten.”

Twenty minutes and some hundred mumbled curses later, he and Jaime were out on the sidewalk of the main street and running side by side. Whereas Sandor wore traditional activewear during their workouts, a black performance hoodie and joggers, Jaime preferred to run shirtless and with shorts, even if there was a chill in the air, which there was more than a chill that morning. He would claim it was because he hated the feeling of clothes sticking to his sweat, but Sandor knew it was because he liked to hear cars honk and the occasional girl shout out a compliment from the window. 

Two miles into their run, once Jaime was no longer gagging and tripping over his own feet, he said, “I sounded as eager as a boy last night. I can’t have Brienne thinking I _want_ her.”

“What are you talking about? You do want her. I heard that as clear as fucking day when you were getting your rocks off in the middle of the night and moaning her name.”

Jaime never had any shame and gave a breathy chuckle. “Can you blame me? Alright, I’ll admit, she’s arguably the most unattractive woman I’ve ever seen, but she’s also the first woman I’ve ever met who didn't fuck me with her eyes.”

 _And Sansa’s the first woman I’ve ever met who didn't look at me with pity,_ he thought. _Shy, maybe. But not fearful._

“I like a good challenge,” Jaime went on. “Before the day is through, I’ll have Brienne screaming my name.” A car drove by and honked. That made him grin wider. “I want to know what it’s like to be with a woman larger than me, even if it is just once.” 

They turned the corner; Sandor squinted away from the rising sun. “One and done?”

“Well, I can’t _date_ her. Imagine what my father would say.” Jaime snorted. “He’d probably shit himself to death. Not to mention how terribly Cersei would taunt her. She has called all of my girlfriends ugly, right to their faces, even the pretty ones.”

 _Because your sister has some freakish crush on you,_ Sandor thought, but decided to keep that to himself. If he pissed Jaime off, there’s no telling what he might text Sansa. 

As if he read his mind, Jaime said, “I know _you’re_ eager. Sansa will be the prettiest girl you’ve ever fucked. Normally I’d say not to go for it, girls who look as good as her are usually terribly shallow, but she _did_ mention you in the text.”

 _She did._ That had surprised him more than it did Jaime. 

Sandor thought he had come on too strong last night, but after Jaime had drunk texted her and invited her and the roommate over to watch the game, Sansa had explicitly stated that she would come so long as he was there. Him. Sandor. She wanted _him_ there.

Jaime hadn't been the only one getting his rocks off last night to the thought of the newest woman in his life. 

Still, he made a promise to himself. And he intended on keeping it. “I’m not going to fuck her.”

Jaime slowed his pace and then gradually came to a stop. Sandor was forced to follow suit and turned away from the sun to face him. With his hands on his hips, sweating and breathing heavily, Jaime said, “What did you say?”

Another car drove past. A brunette woman in the passenger seat leaned out and shouted, “SEXY ASS!”

Normally, that would have made Jaime smile, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he continued to stare at him with narrow eyes. “Why not?”

“Because I want to get to know her,” Sandor confessed, catching his breath, “not just fuck her and never hear from her again.”

“This is new.” Jaime’s frown transitioned into a sharp grin. “Our childhood septon would be proud of you deciding to be chaste after all these years. I feel sorry for Sansa, though. She won’t think you’re very fun.”

He wiped the sweat dripping from his brow with the back of his hand. “I can have fun with her without putting my cock in her.”

“So, just your tongue, then?” Jaime quipped.

“No.”

“A finger, maybe two?”

“Will you shut the fuck up?”

Jaime ran a hand through his hair and flexed his bicep, conveniently as a car was passing by. That time two women were shouting out the window.

“YOU’RE SO HOT!”

“MURDER MY PUSSY!”

_What the fuck._

Jaime waved at them, as if he were royalty, then returned to the conversation. “You’re serious? You’re not going to hit that?”

“No,” he said, hoping he would speak it into existence. When Jaime stared at him dumbfounded, Sandor turned around and resumed his run.

 _Whatever happens tonight, I will_ **_not_ ** _fuck her,_ he swore to himself. _Not until I take her out on a proper date first._

  
  


* * *

  
  


_**SANSA** _

_I don’t need to date him to sleep with him,_ Sansa thought, as she slipped on her soft, black seamless leggings. _No dating. No expectations. No disappointment._

Several of her friends lived that sort of life and seemed to be perfectly content. Myranda and Margaery, namely. In high school, they were ridiculed for it, but one night stands did not seem to be as taboo in college. If anything, casual sex was embedded into the college experience. Maybe it was time for Sansa to finally let loose and have fun; she was a sophomore, after all. Maybe trying to find _the one_ at nineteen was a bit naive. 

Maybe she should have sex with Sandor Clegane tonight. She more than wanted to. He was all she could think about last night...and all day. But would he want it, too?

 _He said he'd like to know me,_ she remembered with glee. _It's not hard to guess what that means._

Once Sansa finished straightening her hair, healthy auburn strands shining as she ran her brush through them once more, she slipped on her cropped sweater that revealed the tiniest bit of skin on her torso and walked into the living room to join Brienne.

Her roommate had decided to stick with her usual look: a plain white tee shirt and blue athletic pants that went well with her eyes. Brienne looked her up and down, then raised an eyebrow. “Leggings?”

“Yes," she answered, feigning innocence, "what’s wrong with leggings?”

“And you’re wearing that fancy perfume.” Brienne leaned in and took a whiff. “What’s it called? _Winter Roses_?”

“I wear this perfume a lot,” Sansa lied. The only time she wore it was when her ex, Willas, used to come over to _chill_ last semester; she hadn't even worn it on her date with Jaime last night. She should have known Brienne would be clever enough to notice _that_.

Brienne shook her head, sighing. “Sansa, if you want to date the guy, date him. But I hope you don’t feel like you need to resort to one night stands.”

Sansa sat on the couch and slipped on her pale pink flats that matched her sweater. “First of all, I don’t think he’d ask me out on a date. And second, dating will only complicate things. That’s all it ever does. I meant what I said.”

“Fine then. I’m not your mother, but I do love you like a sister.” Brienne grabbed the car keys from the kitchen counter and then held up the little black tube of pepper spray. “Just remember, if he does anything without your consent, I’m macing him.”

She knew the threat was _not_ empty, but it made her laugh all the same. There was not one thing she could think of that Sandor Clegane could do that she wouldn’t consent to. 

_Except a date,_ she forced herself to remember. _The moment I date him, everything will go wrong._ _No dating. No expectations. No disappointment._

Sansa stood up from the couch, grabbed her purse and gave her best friend a simpering smile. “Shall we?”

"We shall." Although Brienne's expression did not betray it, Sansa knew she was excited. Jaime and Brienne were as different from one another as she and Sandor, yet there was something there. Something...

As they walked out the door and headed towards the car, Sansa filled her lungs with the crisp air of the early evening and pulled out her phone. _'On our way :)'_ she typed out, then pressed send. That would be the last time she would ever need to text Jaime Lannister. Because tonight, after she slept with Sandor Clegane, she'd ask for his number.

Not to date him, of course. Only undate.


	3. Chapter 3

_**SANSA** _

Jaime Lannister answered the door wearing a glaringly unbuttoned crimson polo shirt and khaki shorts paired with brown leather boat shoes. After meeting his pleasantly coarse roommate last night, Sansa could no longer see the appeal in his preppy look. 

Ignoring her completely, Jaime's flashing green eyes looked up at Brienne as if she were a light in a sea of perpetual darkness.

“You came,” he exhaled.

Brienne still eyed him with suspicion, but the scrutiny was less severe than it had been last night. “I’m standing here, aren’t I?”

“You _are_.” Jaime grinned and opened the door wider, gesturing inside. “Come on in, ladies.”

Sansa licked her lips, savoring the taste of her cherry lip gloss; somewhere between the parking lot and here, her confidence disappeared.

 _I will not leave here with any regrets,_ she promised herself. _I will not go home without sleeping with Sandor Clegane._

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Sansa entered the clean, earthy-smelling apartment, her stomach twisting in knots. Sandor was no where to be found in the living room, but she could hear the muffled sound of a television coming from down the hall where the bedrooms were located. As she stood beside the kitchen bar, she found herself fiddling with the tassel on her purse once again. She stilled her hand at once, refusing to appear anxious around him as she doubtlessly had last night. 

But that did not last long. Sandor walked out of his room wearing a loose-fitting red muscle tee and grey sweatpants. _Grey sweatpants._ Sweatpants that were _grey_. The male equivalent to her soft, black seamless leggings. She could see it as he approached, the _print_ , and tugged so hard on the tassel it ripped clean off. 

As if the sweatpants weren't sending her enough I'm-going-to-dick-you-down-later vibes, his hair hung damp and dark and heavy around his face, suggesting he was fresh out of the shower.

 _He knows what this is,_ she thought. _This is likely_ _far from his first undate._ That was as reassuring as it was terrifying. But it _was_ reassuring, nevertheless.

Sansa hid the broken tassel in her hand and smiled her sweetest smile. 

Behind her, the front door closed, followed by the sound of scuffling feet.

“What do you think you're doing?” asked Brienne, looking askance.

“Taking your keys for you,” Jaime said, so innocently. “I’ll put them in my room. They’ll be safest there.”

Brienne gave a quick laugh. “I think not. I can hold onto them just fine.”

“Oh, I bet you can hold onto many things with those big, beautiful hands of yours.”

Sansa had heard _enough_ of that and minced her way towards Sandor on two dainty feet, trying her best not to steal a glance at the bulge on the front of his grey sweatpants.

She failed, of course, but at least she tried.

“You look beautiful,” Sandor Clegane told her.

Sansa blushed like a schoolgirl, until she realized he was only saying that so she _would_ sleep with him. This might be her first one night stand, but it was not the first time a man tried to woo her with pretty words.

_Words are wind._

“Thank you.” Even if the compliment was forced, Sansa never forgot her courtesies. 

Whether it was the soap he used or perhaps a spritz of cologne, the scent of him was _so_ musky, strong and sweet and impossible to ignore. Sansa _loved_ it and filled her nose with the masculine scent. Before she knew what was happening, he took her hand in his, furrowing his brow when the broken tassel fell into his palm.

Sandor held it up and said, "What happened here?"

"Oh, it just came off," she lied. _It c_ _ertainly wasn't because I was wonderstruck watching you enter the room._

The scarred side of his mouth turned up into a soft smile. "Remind me to fix it for you later tonight."

_Before or after you spread my legs?_

Sansa smiled up at him, as he towered over her. "Alright."

He took her hand once again and led her into the kitchen. “Do you want a beer?”

“She’s nineteen,” Brienne answered for her, entering the living room. Jaime followed along behind her like a lovesick pup. 

Sandor snorted. “One won’t hurt her any.”

When her roommate sent him a threatening glance, Sansa thought, _Don’t pull out the mace. Don’t pull out the mace. Don’t pull out the mace._

He opened the fridge with his right hand, never letting go of her with the other. “Do you want one, Sansa?”

That sent a chill down her spine. She liked how he smelled, she liked how he towered over her, but she _especially_ liked hearing a voice as low and rough as his say her name. 

Sansa hoped he would say it again later and in private...when he came.

The naughty thought pushed her to taste her cherry lip gloss again. 

She couldn't tell if he was offering the beer to be hospitable or in hopes of getting her the slightest bit tipsy to lower her inhibitions. _He is as awful as he is clever,_ she thought, wanting him more. Even though it would have been nice to let the alcohol temporarily rid her of her anxieties, Sansa wanted to remember this night for the rest of her life.

It was her first undate, after all.

"No, thank you," she said politely, as if her mind was not fully in the gutter at that moment.

He leaned in and whispered, "You can have some of mine," then turned to face Jaime. "Lannister, I'll let you have one, you drunkard. Light or dark?"

"None," he answered, staring up at Brienne - still. "I never drink when I host."

"Only when you date?" Brienne quipped.

Jaime let out a hearty laugh. "Tall, athletic, _and_ witty." He sat on the far end of the couch and tapped the space beside him. "Come sit by me, Brienne."

Brienne walked over and sat in a chair six feet away from him. "Turn the match on," she said, looking at her watch. "It's started and you don't even have the TV on."

"Yes ma'am," Jaime said gladly, then reached for the remote. 

Sandor grabbed a bottle of dark beer, opened the cap with his teeth, and then held it out to her. 

Sansa looked over her shoulder to see if Brienne was watching, but she was already preoccupied with the game. Even then, Jaime was staring at her, smiling from ear to ear.

"I shouldn't," Sansa whispered.

"I won't tell," he whispered back, his grey eyes dark with mischief. 

Rather than take it with her hand, Sansa impulsively decided to wrap her lips around the mouth of the bottle and look up at him, gesturing with her eyes for him to tilt it back. He became as still as stone for a few passing seconds, then exhaled through his nose as he filled her mouth with the dark beer.

It was heavy and bitter, but it pleased her taste buds all the same knowing _he_ was the one to give it to her. 

When he pulled it away from her mouth, he chugged the bottle dry and then grabbed another, before taking her over to the couch.

They sat on the opposite end from Jaime, side by side, her seamless black leggings touching his grey sweatpants. He released her hand once they sat, even though she wished he hadn't. 

_Stop it,_ she told herself. _That's what two people do when they date, and that's **not** what this is._

The beer's aftertaste was pleasant. Sansa considered asking for another sip but dared not impair her memory. This was to be the best first undate ever, and she wouldn't forget one second of it.

The match was ten minutes old once they were seated. Sports had never been of much interest to Sansa. Her little sister, Arya, was the sporty one in the family. Nevertheless, she knew a little about football from her previous _terrible_ boyfriends and dates. That evening, Brienne was rooting for the Direwolves so Sansa decided to root for them, too. Jaime and Sandor, however, both had money on the other team winning the match. Even though Sansa's eyes were on the wide screen across the room, watching a ball being kicked back and forth, her mind was busy thinking about how and when her and Sandor Clegane would leave this room to go into his own. 

The thought was so thrilling, Sansa casually crossed one leg over the other to temporarily subdue that vexing tingling sensation between her thighs. It had been four months since she was last with a man, and she didn't realize how desperately she needed _it_ until the man beside her came into her life.

In the meantime, they talked. And Sandor talked to her _a lot_ more than she expected him to considering he was only wanting to hook up. They discussed basic things like their majors and jobs (despite her first impression of him being a dirty mouthed gamer, he was a sports management major and had an internship with their university's athletic faculty), their families (he only had one older brother with whom he was estranged), and their hobbies (his, of course, being gaming). But it wasn’t just small talk. He asked her several questions that required some real thought before she could answer. 

One being, “If you could go anywhere for one whole day, where would you go?” 

Sansa considered that for quite some time, watching as Brienne and Jaime chatted about the game almost cordially to one another, then said, “I don’t really know...what about you?”

Her heart fluttered inside her chest when he said, “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.”

It was then that she confirmed that Sandor Clegane was a Grade A panty dropper. She would have texted that to Brienne had he not been so close.

His face might be scarred, but he was undeniably charming, even if vulgar at times. In fact, his scars and foul mouth only made him more attractive, perhaps even a bit _painfully_ irresistible. Sansa began to feel anxious again. Surely he’d been with plenty of girls before her, considering his singular allure. What if she embarrassed herself in bed? What if she didn’t perform as well as all the others? His body alone was enough to make her want to spread her legs, as provocative and shameful of an admission that was, but add in his sense of humor and his voice and his wit and...

_Oh no._

_Absolutely no._

_Don't you dare catch feelings,_ Sansa told herself. _If you invest any more time getting to know him, it'll only hurt ten times worse when he disappoints you. No more talking. This is an **undate** , not a date._ _No dating. No expectations. No disappointment._

That voice inside her head was becoming quite irksome, but it wasn't speaking anything other than the truth.

Sansa sighed, then resumed her pondering. 

_How can we go into his room without it being obvious?_

She was briefly interrupted from her thoughts when she heard Brienne laugh. _Genuinely_ laugh. And then Jaime was laughing with her.

_Oh my gods. I knew it._

Just as quickly, that laughter ended.

Jaime shouted, "FUCK THE DIREWOLVES!!!!" right in Brienne's face when his team _almost_ scored.

_Don't pull out the mace. Don't pull out the mace. Don't pull out the mace._

When Brienne didn't pull out the black tube from her pocket, Sansa returned to priority number one: conjuring up an excuse to go into Sandor's room. She looked down at her lap while she thought, her hand only inches away from touching those grey sweatpants.

She did not resist the urge to steal one more glance at that conspicuous print.

“Do you like it?”

Sansa's eyes shot up at him, her expression likely resembling that of a deer caught in the headlights. “Like what?”

He was _smiling_. “The game.”

“Oh, yes.”

“You can tell me the truth. I promise not to _shout_ at you.”

Jaime wasn’t oblivious to the shot and sent a glare his way.

She giggled, adrenaline still rushing. “It’s a little boring, if I'm being honest. It’s been thirty minutes and no one has scored.”

Sandor didn't laugh at her ignorance; instead, he smiled warmly. “The real fun isn’t in scoring, it’s in getting there. The strategy, the opportunities, the defensive stops. That’s where the real excitement lies, girl.”

 **_Girl._ **Sansa liked when he called her that, too.

“If you think about it, football is a lot like sex,” Jaime cut in. Brienne was already shaking her head in disgust. “We all want to come, but the foreplay, the dirty talk, the hot, steamy sex...sometimes the lead up is better than the climax.” 

“Could you be any more crude?” Brienne spat.

“Well, they’re not my words. I heard it from...oh that’s right. I heard it from Clegane.” He glanced over at Sandor, with a gleam in his striking green eyes. _Payback,_ Sansa knew, _for what Sandor said earlier._ “Except mine was the censored version. His version went something like, ‘sometimes getting up in them guts is better than busting a nut’.”

When Sandor’s hand balled up into a fist at his side, she thought he meant to punch Jaime, but all he did was tense up beside her, never denying it.

 _If that's true, he really_ **_is_ ** _awful._

If Sansa got any wetter between her thighs, she would end up leaving a stain on the couch.

Another tense minute passed before Jaime abruptly screamed at the television, “Kick his shin!”

Brienne snapped her head towards him. “Did you just say _kick his shin_?”

“Why, yes, I did,” Jaime said proudly, as if she weren't scowling at him.

“That would be poor sportsmanship, not to mention cheating.”

Jaime shrugged. “It’s part of the game. You’re an athlete, Brienne. You know there are times when you need to play a little dirty.”

“Not if you’re an athlete who has honor, which _I_ do.”

“ _Honor_?” Jaime gave a quick, mirthless laugh. “Is it honorable to lose?”

“It’s better to lose honorably than to win by cheating.”

“Wrong, my beauty. It’s better to win, by any means necessary. In the wise words of my father, ‘A Lannister Always Wins His Matches.’ Maybe it’s different for you women.”

The slight was Brienne’s breaking point. “ _You women_?”

And then, they were off. Arguing back and forth, practically screaming at one another about fairness and sportsmanship. It would have been entertaining to witness had Sansa not anticipated the mace being pulled out at any second.

 _Wait wait wait. This is it,_ thought Sansa, _a **perfect** opportunity. _

While Brienne and Jaime were at each other’s throats, Sansa leaned over and said, “Can we watch the game somewhere quieter?”

Obviously, she couldn't care less about the football match, she only wanted to get him alone for _other_ reasons. He’d know that, too. And judging by the way he nearly choked on his beer upon her posing the question, he _did_.

“Somewhere...quieter?” 

He was pretending to be nervous. Sansa had never seen anything so cute.

_He wants me to say it._

Fueled by adrenaline, she placed a tender hand on his forearm, then gave it a little squeeze. It was all muscle, as rigid as the trunk of a tree. “Your room?”

He looked at her hand and then at her face, still feigning bewilderment. Sansa wondered how long he would keep playing innocent.

While Brienne was shouting at Jaime and telling him how completely full of himself he was, Sandor set his beer down on the coffee table and stood up, grabbing her hand to take her with him.

It was so bad, so thrilling; Sansa could hardly breathe. And, the best part, neither Jaime nor Brienne paid them a sliver of attention.

He placed one large hand on the small of her back, then brushed the exposed skin under her cropped sweater with his thick fingers. “Down the hall,” Sandor Clegane said, gently nudging her forward, “first door on your left.”


	4. Chapter 4

_**SANDOR** _

Sansa’s little round ass jiggled with her every step, her walk part saunter, part sway. 

It was nothing short of mesmerizing.

As he walked behind her, he had half a mind to take out his phone and secretly record it, but the guilt would have eaten him alive. Left, right, left, right, straight, shiny auburn hair swaying along her back, taking her all the way into his room. 

So fucking mesmerizing. 

In his current state of hypnosis, he closed and locked the door behind him, then thought, _What the fuck am I doing?_

Apparently, Sansa found it necessary to bend all the way over to set her purse down beside the bed. It was obvious she wasn’t wearing panties underneath that thin scrap of black fabric she wore on her legs. He’d noticed that from the moment he saw her in the living room and thought he’d die. And her sweater, if he could even call it that since half of it was missing, revealed her thin, ivory waist, reminding him of what he _could not_ grab onto later that night. 

He'd kill Jaime later that night for starting a shouting match with Brienne. How could he deny Sansa a quieter place to watch the match? If only it were that innocent. She came to his room tonight wanting him. _Him_. And soon enough, he’d need to tell her what she wouldn’t want to hear, what he would never be able to say: _No more one night stands._ _No sex. Not until I take her out on a proper date first._

He _did_ learn more about her as they sat on the couch, but not nearly as much as he wanted to.

Sansa Stark, nineteen years old, a sister to three brothers, one half brother, and a younger sister who sounded like the worst child alive. She was a poetry major - _poetry_. How fitting for a woman so beautiful. A sophomore, straight A student, and student assistant to one of her professors. The more he learned, the less possible it was for her to be real. Or rather, the less possible it was for her to be with _him_. Wanting _him._ Whispering into his ear that she wanted to come into _his_ room.

If he did what he wanted to do with her tonight, she, the most perfect woman he'd ever know, would leave here thinking of him as nothing but fuck buddy, a one night stand, or even worse, a stranger. 

He couldn’t do it. He wouldn't. Not until he took her out on a proper date first.

While Sandor grabbed the remote and turned on the match, Sansa sat her pantiless round jiggling ass on the edge of his bed and gracefully slipped off her shoes. The sight of her there on _his_ bed did nothing to alleviate the predicament of his cock being hot and swollen inside his sweatpants. His arousal was visibly obvious. He’d need to stop staring at her for it to go down.

If only he could look away. What a beautiful sight. It hadn’t been a lie when he said it - she _did_ look beautiful. The compliment had fallen out of him, the most natural thing to ever pass his lips. And there she was, on _his_ bed, wanting _him_ , and he could not touch. He couldn't.

At the very least, his sheets would smell like her before she left. Even her scent was begging him to dick her down. What even was that scent? Did she wear that last night with Jaime. No, he would have remembered. She wore it for him. 

_Him_.

Sandor turned away from her and made himself busy, placing his phone on his desk and fumbling around with the papers before she’d notice his arousal. The biggest match of the season was on and he no longer cared. When he heard Sansa making little noises behind him to get his attention, he tried to recall a prayer he had learned as a child when he and Jaime would attend sept services. Unfortunately, the septon’s words were not as interesting as wondering what Sansa Stark would sound like as he laid pipe from behind. 

“Aren’t you going to sit down?” she finally asked.

He was still fully erect, and he would be until he cranked one out. That would be the first thing he’d do the moment she left. He’d lay in her scent and think of the way her little ass sauntered towards his room. But before he could do that, he’d need to do two things. 

He would need to tell her no, and then he would need to ask her out on a date.

Neither of those seemed remotely feasible.

He left his desk and turned around to face her. Gods, she belonged there, resting on his bed. But she belonged there for more than one night. This could not be a one night stand.

It could not.

She twirled a lock of her hair with her finger and smiled. “Come sit down."

Sandor looked over at the window and considered jumping.

 _You can sit next to her,_ he told himself, _you can even lay next to her. You can do anything. Just don’t put your cock in her._

He sat down on her left side, keeping a foot in between them, and then tossed the blanket over their legs. 

“Are you cold?” she asked.

“Yes,” he lied, hiding his erection. 

That was futile; he was still pitching a tent underneath the covers. And then, as if he hadn’t been hard enough, Sansa scooted in closer and turned onto her side before wrapping her arm around his chest. 

_Oh fuck._

The only natural response was to wrap his arm around her shoulder and pull her in close - so he did. That was innocent enough.

No it wasn’t. He never wanted to let go. He wanted this forever, not just once. 

_No more one night stands,_ he thought, mindlessly brushing her hair down along her back as he watched the match. _I need to wait. I need to tell her I want to wait. I need to ask her out._

The words caught in his throat, remaining unsaid.

“How much longer until halftime?” asked Sansa. As courteous as she was, he could hear the impatience in her tone. 

The two inside the living room were still going strong. _Can’t go out there,_ he thought. Sandor looked over at the window again when her hand started to caress his chest. “Ten minutes plus stoppage time.”

“And how long is halftime again?”

_Long enough for me to blow your back out._

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, that’s not very long.”

_It’s fourteen minutes longer than I’d need._

“No, it’s not.”

Sansa sighed. “If only someone would score…”

Thinking on his feet instead of with his cock, he said, “I know a way to make the match less boring for you.”

“You do?” she asked, her hand slowly making its way to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Sandor sat up at the last second, leaving her no option but to pull her hand away. “It’s a game.”

Sansa was laying flat on his pillow, pouting. “What game?” 

_One that doesn’t involve me fucking that pout off your face._

“A game...where...you...drink each time your team is scored on.”

“But nobody's scoring and I’m not drinking,” said Sansa, perplexed.

_I know that, girl. I’m bullshitting the best that I can._

“It doesn’t need to be drinking. We can do something else.” _Something that_ _doesn’t involve my cock._ As Sandor contemplated that, not one idea came to his mind that didn’t involve it. 

Out in the living room, Brienne shouted “JAIME!” in a fit of rage. 

_He was right,_ Sandor thought, _he did get her to scream his name before the night was through. Just not in the way he intended._

While he silently found humor in that, Sansa said, in the sweetest, softest, most seductive way, “We could strip.”

Sandor sat there and stared blankly at the TV screen, calculating the likelihood of breaking an arm or a leg by jumping from the window. The odds were high. And the odds of engaging in a one night stand higher still.

_Staring is fine. Staring isn’t putting my cock in her. It was her idea. It’ll be torture, but it’s fine._

“We can do that,” Sandor surrendered, far too eagerly. “As long as you’re comfortable with-”

“NOOO! BRIENNE, LOOK WHAT YOUR SHOUTING HAS DONE!” Jaime cried out in disbelief. “THIS MATCH IS RIGGED!”

Sandor looked away from the little temptress on his bed and watched as the Direwolves huddled together and excessively celebrated their first goal of the game.

“As long as _you_ are,” said Sansa. When he looked at her, there was a shy smile playing on her lips. _Courteous, and naughty by nature,_ he thought, watching as she sat against the headboard and clasped her hands in her lap.

This was the wrong day to only be wearing three articles of clothing.

_Better me than her._

"Alright," _you little minx._ In one fluid motion, Sandor grabbed the bottom of his shirt, pulled it over his head, and dropped it onto the ground.

Sansa eyed him, _licking her lips_. 

_Oh fuck._

Part of him hoped she'd pounce on him and have her way. Another part of him considered jumping out the window after all. As the silence persisted and the tension grew, Sandor felt his blood run cold when he heard Jaime begin to cheer. 

“YEAHHH, LET’S GOOO! DID YOU SEE THAT WITH YOUR BEAUTIFUL WOMAN EYES, BRIENNE? HA!”

He didn't even bother to look at the screen. _Two goals in two minutes._ He could have laughed. He could have cried. He could have jumped out the window.

"You don't have to," Sandor told her, unable to tell her he wanted to wait, unable to ask her out.

Sansa giggled, as if he were being coy. "I don't mind."

_I know you don't._

With unparalleled grace and elegance, Sansa took off her half-missing sweater and set it on top of the pillow. His cock was threatening to poke a hole through his sweatpants. Underneath, Sansa wore the thinnest, laciest bra he'd ever seen: deep blue and asking to be ripped off with his teeth. Her tits were big for her frame, but not too large where they wouldn't fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. 

No. He couldn't think about that. Not yet.

“A pretty color,” he said after a short moment, swallowing his hunger. “Matches your eyes.”

As courteous as ever, she smiled and said, “Thank you."

On the right side of her rib cage, just under her succulent breasts, Sandor spotted a coin-sized black figure. “Is that a tattoo?”

She looked down at it, as if she had forgotten it was there. “Oh, yes."

“What is it?” He wanted to lean forward, but dared not place his mouth too close. "A little bird?”

Sansa tossed her hair over her shoulder and laughed. _Gods, she’s so beautiful._ “It’s a dove.”

Her laugh was contagious. For the first time since entering the room, he broke a smile. “Same thing, girl. When did you get it?”

"My friend Margaery and I went to a tattoo shop when we turned eighteen. She chose a flower, and I chose this."

"Why a little bird?"

"A _dove_ ," she corrected him.

He smirked at her feisty response. "Like I said, why a little bird?"

Sansa looked down at her ribs and ran one finger over it, oh so lightly, then said, "Because it symbolizes peace and love...and because I thought it was cute."

_If I don't end up with this girl, I'll kill the man who does._

He was temporarily relieved when he heard the sound of a whistle blowing, assuming it was halftime, until Jaime started to go buck ass wild again in the living room. 

_There's no fucking way._

Sandor didn't believe in the gods, despite growing up with the Lannisters who practiced the Faith of the Seven. But just then, he did. Sandor knew for certain they existed because they were fucking with him, and they were fucking with him _hard_.

Sansa tilted her head at the TV. “What did I miss?”

He wouldn’t have known, not since his eyes were glued to where he could see her nipples poking through that blue lace. He returned his attention to the screen and observed the referee’s call. “Looks like a player on your team is playing _dishonorably_. Lions get a penalty kick.”

"What does that mean?”

_It means you’ll be stripping some more and I’ll need to jump out this window._

“A free point, if they don’t fuck- mess it up.”

_Censor yourself or she’ll think you’re awful._

"Oh," said Sansa.

He had enough money to pay his rent on this game, yet there he was, praying to the gods who were toying with him for the Lions to miss the penalty kick. _Don’t you fucking score,_ he thought as he watched the player get into position in front of the net. Arthur Dayne was the kicker; there was no way he’d miss. Dayne looked down at his feet and then drew in a breath. In the span of a few seconds, he sprinted forward and sent the ball into the net.

In unison, as Jaime was cheering and Brienne was shouting, he and Sansa looked at one another. 

It would either be her bra or the thin black fabric on her legs coming off next. It didn't matter which she chose to remove, his heart might give out either way.

At first, Sansa lowered her eyes. _That's it, girl, t_ _ake it all off and bring it here,_ he would have said if it were up to his cock. Meanwhile, his mind wanted to say, _Let me take you out and love you first so you don't leave me. Please._ The thoughts came but the words didn't, and then her eyes were back on his. She made her decision, he knew.

The bra, it would be the bra. Sansa reached back with both hands, undid the clasp, and then the cups of her bra grew loose, followed by the lacy straps falling down her shoulders.

 _I should look away and watch the match,_ he thought, never looking away. And neither did she, gazing at him with her vivid blue eyes as she unveiled her body to him.

The lace fell away.

 _"Fuck."_ Sandor thought out loud. He no longer cared about censoring himself. She deserved to know what he did to him, especially since he couldn't show it. He shouldn't show it...

...but maybe he would. Just like her ass did as she walked into his room, her round, perky breasts jiggled ever slightly as she shifted on top of the bed. A handful, the two of them, bared for him to see. 

_She wants me now. I could have her now. Why can't that be enough?_

As he wavered between what he wanted in that moment and what he wanted most of all, Sandor realized there was no longer shouting coming from the living room. When had that happened?

A whistle blew, signalling the end of the first half, and then Sansa reached forward and placed a soft, weightless hand on his bare chest.

He should have jumped from the window when he had the chance.

_Goodbye, Sansa Stark._

Having as much restraint as a feral hound, Sandor took her waist and threw her down onto the bed.

Sansa gasped, acting so surprised as if she hadn't been seducing him all evening.

Gods, he loved that. 

As he climbed on top of her, Sansa spread her legs wide open and wrapped them around his waist. Never had he seen such eagerness, not for _him_. For what felt like a hundred rapid beats of his heart, Sandor could only stare at the beauty underneath him, how small she looked, how her tits rose and fell with each of her quick breaths, how those two blue eyes looked up at him in a pleading sort of way. He lowered his hips an inch more and felt himself press so nicely against that thin scrap of black fabric concealing her pussy. He grunted, she moaned; there was not a chance in the seven hells he’d last longer than two minutes once he was buried inside her. 

There was only one way to find out.

In the back of his mind, a faint voice started to nag, forewarning him about a promise he’d made earlier that morning or something of the like. But when Sansa lifted her hips and swiveled what awaited him between her legs over the bulge in his sweatpants, silently urging him to proceed, his worst, most primitive instincts took over.

Sandor reached over to the nightstand, threw open the drawer, and snatched a condom out with haste.

He would have ruined it all. 

But when Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and placed her mouth on his, he pulled away, acting on instinct. 

“What are you doing?” he said heavily. Sandor licked his lips and tasted her on them - cherries.

“Ki-kissing you,” she said in one breath. Her eyes were no longer heavy with lust, but wide with panic. “Oh, are we not supposed to...”

Her voice was drowned out by the one inside his head, no longer nagging, but scolding him viciously.

_She’s the only girl who has ever kissed you without being drunk, confused, or repulsed, and you mean to fuck her tonight so you’ll never see her again?_

The condom in his hand felt as heavy as a three hundred pound barbell. He threw it on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa stammered, “I’ve never done-”

Before she could finish what she had to say, and far before Sandor could even attempt to explain why he stopped, the shouting resumed in the living room.

“Is that _mace_?” Jaime yelled. “Are you going to mace me, wench?” 

“Did you just call me _wench_?"

More shouts proceeded, one right after the other, none of which were intelligible. 

He and Sansa exchanged a glance, until his eyes fell down to her heaving breasts. 

“We should go out there,” Sandor suggested throatily, then forced himself to look away. He jumped off the bed, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and threw it back on, not once looking over at the siren laying in a state of shock in the middle of the mattress.

As soon as he opened the door to his bedroom, another slammed shut. When Sandor entered the living room, he discovered Jaime sitting alone on the couch with his feet kicked up on the table, his golden hair wild and tousled, and smiling to himself as he stared up at the ceiling. He looked drunker than he had the night before, yet Sandor knew he was very much sober.

Jaime gave out a long sigh and said, “What a woman.”

Before Sandor could ask him what the hell happened, Sansa came out of his bedroom fully-dressed, clutching onto her purse and tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Where’s Brienne?” she asked. The question was directed at Jaime, not him.

 _I fucked it up,_ he thought. _I didn’t have to fuck her to fuck it all up._

“Waiting for you in the car,” Jaime sighed, in bliss.

Sansa looked up at him, then dropped her eyes. “I better go.”

He was speechless as he watched her scurry towards the exit. That voice in his head started to nag at him again, but this time he’d listen.

Sandor sprinted to the door, catching it before it would close behind her. “Sansa, wait.”

She turned around in the breezeway slowly. “Yes?”

“I…” _want to take you out on a date. A real date. A date you deserve. Not this._ “I want to see you tomorrow.”

Sansa blinked at him. “Oh, I have class and work tomorrow.”

 _Fuck, so do I._ “What time do you get off? We can…” _go out. Go on a date._ _Say it, you dumb shit!_

“Go on a... _date_?” Sansa spoke that last dreaded word as if it were a slur.

_Why did she say it like that? Why did she hesitate?_

He cleared his throat. “No, we can just chill.”

She smiled a small smile, but it was bigger and brighter than any smile he’d ever seen. _Thank the gods, she’s smiling. She doesn't hate me, unless she’s only being courteous._

“Ok,” said Sansa. The single word was music to his ears; she _accepted_. “I get off work at seven. I can come by then.”

“Alright." He resisted the urge to celebrate the victory. It was better than any goal being scored, better than any championship being won, better than winning a bet. "I’ll be here.”

When she smiled again, wider now, he hated himself a little less for what he had done. “Ok, well-”

“-bye,” he finished for her, then added, “little bird.”

Sansa’s cheeks became rosier than he’d ever seen them. Even though he had known her for only one day, he quickly learned she did that often.

And he _loved_ it.

She blessed him with her smile for a few more seconds before turning around and walking away.

He was forgetting something, he knew. Unfortunately, he could not think of what that was while watching that little round ass jiggle as she left.

After he closed the door, he pressed his sweaty forehead against it and started to laugh. 

_I just put myself in the same fucking situation._

“Get up in them guts, Clegane?” Jaime asked from the couch. “If you did, you were quiet...for once.”

Sandor looked over his shoulder, eyeing him coolly. “I almost fucked it all up.”

“ _Almost?_ How far did you get?”

“Too far.”

“How far is _too_ far?”

Sandor stepped away from the door, becoming more irritated the longer he looked at his smug face. “I had the fucking condom in my hand.”

Jamie chortled. “Well, so much for taking her out on a proper date. You should have properly fucked her instead. What stopped you? Forget how to put it on?”

Fighting the urge to punch him, Sandor said, “Maybe I should properly throw you off the balcony.”

“Please don’t. I’d rather hear about what happened.”

Sandor sat down on the opposite end of the couch and wiped a hand down his face as he looked at the TV. Halftime would be ending soon enough, but he no longer cared who won the match.

“I tried to ask her."

Jaime narrowed his eyes. “Ask her what? When?”

“Are you deaf? I tried to ask her out! Just now! I told her I wanted to see her again and she asked if we were going on a date.”

“That’s probably because she was hoping you were.”

“No, if you saw the way she said it...I couldn’t ask her out after that. She would have said no.”

Jaime found that amusing. He was in far too good of a mood considering Sansa’s roommate just left him. “What woman doesn’t want to be taken out on a date? When I asked Sansa, she said yes.”

That was an unwelcome reminder. “Every woman says yes to you.”

“True, but I’m not the one Sansa lured off into your room.”

_No, she wanted me. She kissed me. And I stopped her._

“She’s coming over tomorrow,” Sandor exhaled. “I won’t last five minutes before I do it all over again.”

“You do know you can ask her out _after_ you hit, right?”

“When has any girl been interested in me after that? I want her to take me seriously.”

“Hard to do that when you have a condom in your hand,” Jaime quipped. 

Sandor snatched the remote from the table and shut off the TV. 

That finally wiped the self-satisfied smile off Jaime’s face. “Bro, halftime is almost over and we have money on this match!”

“Then don’t fuck with me, _bro."_

“Look, if you can’t ask her out on a date, just surprise her. That’s what I plan on doing. When Sansa comes over tomorrow expecting you to beat it up, take her out instead."

He considered that for a moment. _Surprise her...I can surprise her. I’ve always been better at doing than speaking. I don’t even have to call it a date. I’ll just...surprise her._ He did not know _how_ he would surprise her, but he knew he'd figure out something.

Sandor regarded Jaime, becoming confused as he recalled his words. “Wait, what do you mean that’s what you plan on doing? I heard you two out here. That woman hates you.”

Jaime shook his head, grinning again. “If she hated me, she would have maced me. I was sort of hoping that she would. Don’t look at me like that, Clegane. I’ve had weirder fetishes.”

Before Jaime would elaborate on that, Sandor said, “What about your father and sister? Forget about them?”

“No, I just don’t care. I’m a grown ass man, and Brienne is a grown ass woman.”

That was new. “What happened with you and her?”

“Well, at some point during the shouting match, I pulled her in for a kiss. She smacked me away at first, but when I stopped, she tackled me to the ground," Jaime recounted, beaming from ear to ear. "Next thing I knew we were making out, best lips I’ve ever kissed by the way, so I tried to slip a hand down her pants. That's when I found myself staring at the wrong end of that mace.”

Sandor snorted a laugh. “So you called her a wench?”

Jaime shrugged. “The word just came to me. I’ll make it a term of endearment. Better than _little bird_. Yeah, I heard that, Clegane.” Just then his phone jingled. Jaime picked it up off the couch and read the text. His green eyes sparkled. “Speaking of my wench.”

“After all that, she’s texting you?”

“Not her. Sansa. I asked her for Brienne’s number.”

Sandor sat there, hating himself all over again. _That’s what I forgot to ask her when she left._

“Give me Sansa’s number,” Sandor demanded, almost desperately.

Jaime sent out a text, then shook his head. “Don’t need to.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because, she just asked me for yours.” Jaime reached over and snatched the remote from his hand. As soon as he turned the TV on, Sandor could hear his phone faintly ringing from his bedroom. A whistle blew; the second half of the match had begun. “I’d answer that if I were you, Clegane. Your unknowing date is calling.”


	5. Chapter 5

**_SANSA_ **

When Sansa heard that low, raspy voice say “Hello?” on the other end of the phone, she pulled the screen away from her face, tapped the red circle half a million times, then threw the device onto the dashboard. 

“What was that all about?” asked Brienne, alarmed. She was driving like a mad woman, proclaiming to be enraged by what Jaime had done only minutes ago. Sansa made sure her seatbelt was on, though she would have sooner flown through the windshield than remember the way Sandor Clegane had looked at her after she had kissed him.

_'What are you doing?'_

Sansa died a little more inside each time she thought about it.

Her phone suddenly lit up and began to vibrate on the dash, creating the most jarring of noises. Sansa's hand yearned to reach for it, but her mind was still stuck on thinking about how Sandor had thrown the condom onto the floor while she had been laying topless on his bed.

Brienne quickly looked away from the road and frowned. “Oh for Seven’s sake, will you answer the thing?"

She couldn't. How _will I ever see him tomorrow? Why does he even want to see me?_

Sansa waited for her phone to finish buzzing before saying, “Why did I do that? Oh gods, what is wrong with me? What if he didn’t want me to have his number?”

"If he can try to have sex with you an hour after you come over, I think the least he can do is inconvenience himself enough to talk to you on the phone," said Brienne, as she swerved through traffic.

“That’s the thing...he wasn’t.”

“What do you mean? You said he took out a condom.” 

“He did, but after I kissed him, he...threw it on the ground.” Sansa made two tiny fists and beat herself on either side of the head. “Why did I do that? Why, why, why? Why did no one tell me kissing was off limits during a one night stand?” As soon as Brienne gave her a curious glance, Sansa added, "But apparently not off limits for Jaime Lannister."

"He's repulsive," Brienne said at once. "Absolutely repulsive."

Sansa eyed her skeptically. “If you hate Jaime so much, why did you want me to give him your number when he asked?”

“Because I expect him to apologize for his disgusting behavior. Don’t you think for one second that I’ll entertain him with a response.”

As Brienne veered to the right to take the nearest exit, driving twenty over the speed limit, Sansa watched as her phone slid across the dashboard and momentarily considered tossing it out the window. "I had no luck when it came to dating, and now I have no luck when it comes to undating."

"Sansa, I say this because I love you - you're being dramatic. Didn't you just say he asked you to come back over?"

He did, although Sansa had no explanation for why he had done that. _Maybe he figured he might as well follow through and add another notch in his belt,_ she thought. "Yeah, but now it's going to be so awkward. I should have never kissed him. Gods, I've never seen someone so disgusted."

“ _Or_ ,” Brienne began, “maybe he was only surprised that you wanted to kiss him.”

“Why would he be-” _Oh,_ Sansa realized, _the scars._ It wasn't hard to assume that many girls avoided kissing him, at least on the left side of his face. But, for Sansa, she had not been hesitant or repulsed at the thought of her mouth touching kissing his those scars. On the contrary, she had been the one to pull his face to hers with a deep sense of urgency, practically desperate to feel his lips devour her own.

As _harsh as his scars are, they don’t frighten me. And the way they felt pressed against my cheek, the way they tasted on my lips..._

Sansa stopped when she found herself daydreaming as she stared out the window. Daydreaming was an absolute no-go. Daydreaming was just shy of crushing, and crushing was just shy of wanting to date. And dating...no.

_No._

“I don’t think it was that," she finally said, as Brienne pulled up to the gate in front of their apartment. "He was probably just wanting to have sex without _that_ sort of intimacy."

Brienne shook her head. "Then that would make him an asshole."

Curse words always sounded foreign when leaving her roommate's mouth. "Brienne!" she gasped, but found herself laughing shortly after. "It kind of does, but it's alright. I'm not going to date him or anything."

"I certainly hope not. Clearly he doesn't respect you."

That stung, but was it not the truth? And not only that, wasn't that what she wanted? A one night stand? Someone who wouldn't disappoint her romantically? An undate?

_He did fake playing hard to get, but when it came down to it, he was ready to have sex with me. A man who respected me would have at least wanted to take me out on a date first._

Once Brienne hastily parked into the nearest vacant spot outside their building, Sansa had no choice but to pick up her phone off the dashboard prior to exiting the car. The screen lit up upon her taking it into her hand. When she read her most recent notification, her stomach fluttered. 

**_Sandor Clegane_ **

**_Missed Call_ **

Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad had she not decided to save his number in her contacts just before calling him. Surely a random string of ten numbers wouldn’t have stirred up such a response.

Well, too late now.

_Sandor Clegane._

Sansa read his name, again and again. She liked his name. No, she didn't just like it, she _loved_ it. She could love it, right? That didn’t go against her rule of no dating. It was a strong name for an equally strong man. While the image of him pulling away from her kiss would forever be ingrained in her mind, so, too, would the image of him taking off his shirt when the Direwolves had made that point.

What a brilliant idea that had been on her part.

Unlike the kiss, her bold suggestion to strip as part of their game had paid off. Sandor was _thick_ with muscle - so _thick_. Sansa had never seen such a body, not even when Margaery and Myranda would send pictures of sculpted eye candy in the group chat. When she had decided to just go for it and touched him at the start of halftime, she could not remember another time her fingers had caressed anything so firm and warm. She could still feel the coarseness of his chest hair on her fingertips, as well as the two spots on her waist where he had grabbed her before tossing her down onto the bed.

It could have all been so perfect, so sensual, so intimate, had she not ruined it all with a kiss.

 _But, if all goes well, I'll see him tomorrow,_ she thought. _And now I know not to ever kiss him ever again._

_Ever._

Sansa sighed. At least she had the memory.

She stared at the strong name on her screen the entire time she plodded along the sidewalk. As Sansa entered her apartment, she wondered if she should add an emoji next to his name. Truthfully, she only ever did that for her best friends and guys that she dated, but maybe the man who would (eventually...hopefully) be her first one night stand deserved something, too. 

_But which one?_

Once home, Brienne turned on the football match in the living room to watch the second half, while Sansa sat beside her on the couch and scrolled through the endless amount of emojis.

_Which one gives off Sandor Clegane vibes?_

There was the football emoji - that could work. Then again, she had already used that once for one of her exes and decided to keep scrolling. There was the eggplant emoji which seemed more than fitting, remembering how _it_ looked inside his grey sweatpants. Sansa giggled to herself and was very, _very_ tempted, but eventually passed it up. When she saw the dog emoji, she paused. Sansa couldn’t say why, but there was something about it that seemed...appropriate.

Sansa lifted her thumb to add it in between his first and last name, but in that same split second she lowered her finger onto the glass, the screen changed.

An incoming call from Sandor Clegane.

And instead of her thumb pressing the dog emoji, it landed just where the bright green circle suddenly appeared.

She had, very unintentionally, answered his call.

Their lines connected. As Sansa watched the seconds of their call elapse on the screen, she felt her blood slowly drain from her face.

“Little bird?” said a quiet, raspy voice over the speaker.

Sansa tossed the phone into her roommate's lap.

Brienne looked away from the TV. “What in the world are-"

“It’s him," she stammered, speaking no louder than a whisper. "Tell him I’m busy or hang up. I don’t care.”

“Why didn’t _you_ just hang up?” Brienne whispered back.

Sansa didn’t know why, all she knew was that she was panicking and wanted to ship her phone off to Essos. All she could do was shrug.

Brienne sighed and picked up the phone. “Yes?...this is Brienne...did you _really_ just call me Jaime’s wench?” _Oh no,_ thought Sansa. Her roommate was kind, but she was not one to overlook blatant disrespect. _She won't play nicely now._ Visibly irritated, Brienne looked her dead in the eye and said, “Sansa couldn't answer because she's in her room with something that's buzzing.”

In the blink of an eye, Sansa reached over and snatched the phone away from her petty roommate. “I’m here, I’m here! Sorry, I was...busy.”

“With your buzzing?” Sandor Clegane asked, with humor in his tone.

It was almost as humiliating as the rejected kiss. “No, Brienne was just being stupid.” She scowled at her best friend who was chuckling on the couch before walking towards her bedroom. “So, um, why did you call?”

“Because you called me first.”

Sansa had never felt so stupid. What was it about Sandor Clegane that made her feel and act so stupid? 

She giggled nervously. “Oh, right.”

“So why did you call me, little bird?”

Sansa wished he would stop calling her that. 

But not really.

Upon entering her room, she closed the door and sat down on her bed, wishing it was his. “Oh...well I…” _Think, think, think. Why did I call him? To apologize for kissing him? Or to hear his voice?_ Sansa’s eyes fell to a purse on the floor. Remembering the broken tassel, she said, “I wanted to say you forgot to fix my purse.”

“That’s what you wanted to tell me?” asked Sandor.

 _No._ “Yes.”

An exhale blew into the phone, sounding like a strong gust of wind. "I can fix it for you tomorrow.”

 _Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow._ Her stomach fluttered again. She should leave it there for the night before she would manage to find a way to ruin a phone call, too. “Ok, well b-”

“Don’t go,” he said, quite abruptly. “Can you talk a little longer?”

Sansa fell back onto the mattress, in disbelief. “Don’t you want to watch the rest of the match?”

“I can do both.”

“Jaime won’t mind?”

“I have it on in my room.”

Sansa pictured him laying on his bed and considered taking out her buzzing toy after all. “Oh, alright.”

“What are you doing?” he asked.

It was as if the kiss had never happened at all. Not even an hour had gone by since she was on her back, topless, and wrapping her legs around his waist. Maybe he felt bad about how he had reacted. Whatever the reason for him acting so nonchalant, Sansa refused to screw it up. After all, she had an undate with him tomorrow. “Nothing. I’m just laying in bed.”

“Is it as comfortable as mine?”

_OH MY GODS. I'M GOING TO SCREW THIS UP._

It wasn't as comfortable as his, not even close, but she decided to say, “Well, mine has more pillows," in an effort not to sound too eager.

He laughed warmly. “How many?”

Sansa sat up to count them. “Nine.”

“ _Nine_? What do you need nine pillows for?” 

“I like feeling cozy,” she answered, followed by giggling far too much. Sansa caught herself and ended the flirtatious laughter. That was reserved for dating and she couldn't date him. She _couldn't_. “The real question is, why do you only have one?”

“One head, one pillow.”

“Two when I come over," she found herself saying. That sounded flirtatious, too. 

_Damn him for making me act stupid,_ she thought, squeezing the phone in her hand out of frustration. _Damn him, damn him, damn him._

“Talk to me," he said, after a brief moment of silence.

“About what?”

“Whatever you want.”

She contemplated that. Everything she thought of sounded worse than the rest, until she remembered what she was doing just before he called. It wasn't on the topic of beds or sex, so surely it was safe to discuss. “Um, do you like dogs?”

He chuckled. “Not what I was expecting, but alright. I do. Why?”

 _I'll add the dog emoji to his name after all,_ she thought. “I don’t know, just curious.” 

“Planning on buying me a dog, little bird?”

Sansa blushed, once again, and started to nervously play with her hair while she stared up at the ceiling. “What would you say if I am?”

“I’d say get a black one. And not a lap dog, either.”

That made her giggle. _Damn him._ “Ok. A boy or a girl?”

“A boy.”

“What would you name him?"

Sandor took a moment to think about that. “I’d name him...Stranger.”

“ _Stranger_?” she blurted out, with audible disgust. 

“What? You don’t like it?”

“Not really.”

He snorted a laugh. “The little bird has spoken. Do you have something better in mind?”

 _The next time he calls me that, I'll hang up this phone,_ Sansa promised herself.

“Well, for starters, I would get a girl. A lap dog.”

“Of course you would, little bird." And there it was - he said it again, but Sansa couldn't hang up. But next time she would though, no matter what. “And what would you name her?”

She gave it some thought, while unconsciously twirling a lock of her hair with her finger. “Ummm...I’ve always thought Lady was a cute name for a dog.”

“It is," Sandor Clegane agreed. "A cute name for a cute dog for a cute woman.”

_Words are wind. Don't you forget it._

She didn’t know how to respond to that without making herself look like a complete idiot, so she only gave a soft giggle. 

Sandor inhaled deeply. “My bed smells like you, little bird.”

She needed to hang up now. She promised herself that she would.

Keeping the phone pressed to her ear, Sansa thought, _Next time I will, for sure._

The fact that his bed smelled like her was not surprising. The perfume she wore, ‘Winter Roses’, would always linger on her clothes, even after she washed them. He'd be smelling her for a week, if not longer. Sansa smiled to herself and placed the lock of hair she was playing with to her nose, allowing the scent to fill her nostrils. Her auburn strands smelled clean and musky. They smelled like him.

Calmer now, Sansa said, “My hair smells like you.”

His breath was loud in the phone. “Is that good or bad?”

“So good,” she all but moaned, then considered hanging up that next second.

 _So good?_ **_So good?_** _More like, I'm **s**_ _ **o stupid**._

For about a minute, he had fallen quiet again, the only sound on the other end of the phone being his erratic breaths. She wondered what was happening in the game that was making him so anxious. “Keep talking to me, girl.”

'Girl' wasn't 'little bird', so she didn't need to hang up.

“What should I talk about?"

"Anything at all," he said, his voice quivering.

That gave her pause.

_Wait. A. Minute._

Sansa closed her eyes and pressed the phone closer to her ear, focusing solely on the sound of Sandor’s breathing. It was a familiar cadence, not due to stress, but the rhythm that came along with exertion. He was doing something physically demanding. Something he did not mention. And listening to it was doing something to her _down there_. 

_Could he really be-_

Just when she heard Brienne groan loudly in the living room followed by crying out “Bullshit!”, another voice became audible on the other end of the line. “Did you see that beautiful goal, Clegane?! I’m buying my wench a thousand roses with the money I win- bro, are you beating your meat?”

The phone nearly fell from her hand. 

_Oh my gods, **he is**._

“Get the fuck out!” Sandor shouted. 

_He’s awful!_

“Bad case of blue balls?” Jaime Lannister chuckled. 

A jumbled sound followed. It was not difficult to guess that Sandor had dropped his phone. Soon after, Sansa could hear Jaime yelping followed by the slam of a door. After listening to a series of muffled curses, she heard Sandor Clegane pick up the phone and say, “Did you...hear any of that?”

He was awful and uncouth, just like she thought he was the moment she met him. He was secretly touching himself while on the phone with her.

And Sansa loved it.

“No,” she lied. “I heard some cursing, that’s all. Is everything ok?”

He let out another heavy exhale, then said, “It is now. Keep talking to me.”

_OH MY GODS. HE'S DOING IT AGAIN._

Sansa didn't know what to say or do; she had never done this sort of thing before, at least not knowingly. Whether Harry or Willas had ever touched themselves while on the phone with her, she could not say. All Sansa knew was that she wanted to have fun with it. 

Channeling the same boldness she had mustered earlier that evening, Sansa decided to say, “Did you like my outfit tonight?”

A sound escaped him, similar to a growl. “I did.”

Sansa swallowed. “What about my bra?”

When he didn’t immediately respond, Sansa thought, _Oh gods, I’ve screwed it all up again_ , until he said, “I loved it." His voice was _so shaky_. "Gods, you’re so beautiful.”

The breathy compliment gave her an adrenaline rush. _Words are wind, words are wind._ She needed to remember. _He’s only saying that so you’ll come over tomorrow,_ Sansa told herself. _Stop blushing!_

Pretending not to have heard the latter half of his response, she said, “Did you like it better on...or off?” 

Again, no immediate reply, only rapid, shallow breaths. Did he know she could hear? Did he want her to? When she whispered “Sandor?” after a few more seconds had passed, something happened.

Not something, but _it_ \- his climax.

Having to pretend that she didn’t know what he was doing intensified the thrill. He made an effort to conceal it, Sansa could tell, but she heard the muffled “Fuck” all the same. Sandor must not have thought about muting the call before he came, but instead smothered the phone against his blanket or mattress. 

She was _deeply_ thankful for the lack of thought on his end. 

Intensely aroused and utterly without shame, Sansa pressed the phone painfully close to her ear and closed her eyes, mindlessly squeezing her pelvic muscles as she imagined him breathing and grunting and cursing that very same way with her tomorrow evening. 

It was too much. While holding onto the phone with one hand, Sansa slipped the other inside her leggings and found that sweet spot between her thighs. She was soaking wet. “Are you still there?” she asked softly.

After several seconds, he finally said, “Yes,” his already deep voice now an octave lower. “Sorry, I...fell asleep.”

The lie was so brazen, it made her laugh. “You fell asleep? Is speaking to me that boring?”

Sandor cleared his throat. “No, it’s that comforting.”

_Words are wind, words are wind._

Struggling with whatever one would call the female version of blue balls, Sansa started to circle her fingers. It was her turn, but she would be sure to do it much more discreetly. “Can you talk to me?”

“About what, little bird?”

 ** _Little bird_** _._ She loved that so much. She loved it more and more each time he said it. There was no way she could hang up. Sansa increased her pace. “Tell me what you’re going to do to me tomorrow.”

No response, no response, no response. Sansa’s fingers grew still.

“Hello?” She pulled the phone away from her face. The call was still connected, the seconds still elapsing. “Sandor? Hello?”

While Brienne was laughing almost girlishly in the living room, presumably because the Direwolves must have scored, Sansa heard the faintest sound of snoring coming through the speaker. 

_He really did fall asleep._

Sansa removed her hand from the confines of her leggings. Her pleasure could wait until the undate tomorrow.

Without ever ending the call, Sansa opened up the contacts in her phone and edited his name.

**_Sandor_ 🐶 _Clegane_**


	6. Chapter 6

_**SANDOR** _

If the day ended on the same note as it began, he would be balls deep inside Sansa Stark that evening, not after the surprise date, but before. 

In other words, he would be having a one night stand.

Mondays were always the worst, this one especially. Not only was Sandor going to be late to class that morning after failing to set his alarm the night before (he had never intended to _actually_ fall asleep while on the phone; he had only meant to pretend to be asleep until Sansa hung up, in an effort not to fuck her with words), but the Golden Lions had ended up losing the match at the very last second, meaning he would need to pay the men's swim team captain, Euron Greyjoy, a shit load of money before the day was through.

And his bad luck didn’t stop there. 

Since he arrived to campus late, he couldn’t find a parking spot, meaning he needed to park all the way out in fucking Asshai and take a shuttle to the Main Building. To top it all off, after _running_ to class, he forgot he had a test that morning and brutally flunked his Sports Economics midterm. However, he didn’t fail it because he didn’t know the answers, but rather because every time he put his pencil to the paper that nagging voice inside his head returned.

The guilt was eating away at him.

Secretly getting himself off while listening to Sansa's voice last night made him feel as foul as he had after grabbing the condom from the drawer. Of course, he didn’t feel that way until _after_ he busted a nut to the thought of her round, perfectly sized tits bouncing as she rode him, how she sounded whispering his name…

_Tell me what you’re going to do to me tomorrow._

Sandor had no choice but to end the conversation there and begin to snore. 

Even though phone sex wasn’t putting his cock in her, there was no coming back from telling her the nastiest, raunchiest things that came to his mind, only to let her down when none of it happened the following evening.

Those nasty, raunchy things _couldn’t_ happen - not yet. Not until Sandor took her out that evening (though he dared not tell _her_ it was a date). It would need to be a surprise. And it _would_ be.

Or so he hoped.

By noon, he was done with his classes and made his way to the athletic facility for work. As he walked across campus, Sandor found himself searching for a particular young woman with long, auburn hair in the swarm of people going to and from class. How had he never seen Sansa Stark before? Then again, knowing her, she would be in the library in between classes reading and studying her poetry. Despite being a senior, Sandor had visited the library only once, and that had been during a mandatory orientation. 

He had a few minutes to spare. Maybe he could meet up with her now if his guilt would allow it.

Sandor took out his phone to call her, but when he tapped on the screen it wouldn't light up.

He chuckled dryly. It was dead. More bad luck. _I didn't charge it last night,_ he remembered, then shoved it back into his pocket and cursed his way over to work.

In another life, he would have been an collegiate athlete, maybe even a professional. But his older brother kept that from happening the day he had given him the scars; with the influence of media, an athlete's physical appearance and charm were almost as important as his skill on the field. He might have swallowed that loss, but that didn't prevent Jaime's father (Tywin Lannister, millionaire sports investor) from helping him score an internship with the best athletic faculty in the country. More often than not, Sandor assisted one of the football managers or attended meetings about budgeting and scheduling (the fucking _worst_ ). However, for the first time that day, he had a shred of luck and was able to go out on the field and oversee the football team’s practice.

Jaime, his roommate and supposed friend who didn't think about waking him that morning, was playing like shit. His mind was elsewhere, Sandor knew, watching as he cruised up and down the field with the dumbest smile on his face.

That didn't make any sense. 

Not only had Jaime nearly gotten maced the night before, but he had lost a bet, too, and owed Addam Marbrand a shit load of money. There was no reason for Jaime to be happy right now, yet there he was, practically skipping down the football field in pure bliss.

Meanwhile, Sandor could only squint away from the sun and envy him, anxious and full of guilt.

Once practice concluded, Jaime joined him as he walked inside the locker room, still with the dumbest of grins plastered on his face, and said, “How did I look out there?”

“Like shit,” Sandor answered curtly. “At least you’re wearing a shirt today. I haven’t seen you wear a shirt to practice since we were nine.”

“Someone’s in a chipper mood," Jaime said, sarcastically. "Still have blue balls, even after beating your meat?”

Sandor might have punched him for that had they not been passing right by the head coach, and Jaime's uncle, Kevan Lannister. Injuring their star player would be a sure way to lose his job.

“What were you smiling about out there?” he asked, eager to change the subject. “Excited to give Marbrand your rent money for this month?”

“I already gave Marbrand his money. As you know, a Lannister always-”

“Don’t you dare finish that."

“Alright, let's go back to the topic of beating your meat, then. You should know something." Jaime moved in closer. "Do _not_ take Sansa out this evening. A big, beautiful, blue-eyed bird told me that your 'little bird' strictly wants the D - dick, not dating.”

Sandor came to a halt. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jaime took a few more steps and opened up his locker. As he fixed his damp hair in the gold-rimmed mirror that hung inside the door, he said, “I’m telling you what my wench told me.”

“Your _wench_?” Sandor scoffed. “You don’t talk to her.”

Thirty seconds later, he was eating those words. Jaime had taken out his phone and handed it to him with his text messages open on the screen.

Once Sandor's eyes fell on the list of contact names, he immediately frowned. “Who is ‘Spicy Redhead’?”

Jaime snorted. “My bad, bro, I’ve been meaning to change that.”

“You better,” Sandor grizzled, then looked at the screen again.

None of the contacts in Jaime's phone were actual names. Sandor’s contact name was ‘My Dog’, Addam Marbrand’s was ‘My Homie’, Sansa was, of course, the ‘Spicy Redhead’, and at the very top, Jaime's most recent text thread, was ‘My Wench’.

 _Seven hells, Lannister wasn’t lying._ _No wonder he’s high on life._

The fact that the two were texting was puzzling, to say the least. Sandor would have asked how he managed to swing that after nearly getting maced the night before, but he wasn’t about to initiate a conversation that would lead to Jaime grinning idiotically again. 

Instead, Sandor handed him back the phone. “So, what did your ‘wench’ say?”

Jaime grinned idiotically anyway. “Well, somehow we got to talking about you and Sansa. I might have _accidentally_ told her you were planning on surprising your 'little bird' today.”

Sandor balled his right hand into a fist. “What do you mean you _accidentally_ told her?"

“I wasn’t thinking, Clegane. My wench enchanted me. Believe me, you weren't the only one taming the dragon last night. Anyway, I hate to break it to you, but Sansa doesn’t date.”

“She just went out with you two days ago!” he exclaimed far too loudly, causing a scene inside the locker room. Sandor only needed to raise one clenched fist to get the eavesdroppers scurrying off in the other direction.

“Yeah, well, our date must have been as shitty for her as it was for me,” Jaime explained, as he stripped off his sweaty clothes right in front of him without a care in the world. If ever there was a law allowing for public nudity, Jaime would be the first one ass naked and skipping down the street. “Apparently, after our dinner, Sansa texted Brienne and swore off from dating.”

It was all coming together. _That’s why she said the word with disgust: **d**_ ** _ate_** _._

What if it had nothing to do with him at all? What if it was her personal experience with dating that would prevent him from being able to take her out? Maybe she was jaded by it, burned too many times...

Sandor lifted his fist and punched Jaime’s locker closed with a loud _bang_. “This is your fucking fault!”

Jaime took a quick step back. “Bro, calm the fuck down. It’s not _all_ my fault. Did you know that she dated Willas Tyrell last semester? You remember him, don’t you? He was one of the best athletes here before that brutal leg injury two years ago. Well, I heard their breakup was a nasty one. If you want someone to blame, blame Willas, not me.”

Sandor sat down on the nearest bench and dropped his head to the floor. “What the fuck am I going to do? Sansa's coming over in four hours.”

“What did you have planned for tonight?” Jaime asked, as he walked towards the showers.

“I was going to see if she would ride with me to give Greyjoy his money. That way, when I take her somewhere else after-”

“-it won’t look like a date.” Jaime tossed his head back and laughed. “Gods, you’re smooth, Clegane. A real pussy master.”

Sandor ignored that, still mulling over what he had told him. “What do I do if she gets suspicious and doesn't want to come with me?”

“Then you do what any sane man would do in your position," Jaime shouted, after turning on the faucet. "You take her into your room and bump uglies. She won’t wait around forever, bro. Sooner or later, Sansa will think you’re not into her and split. Give her what she wants. You know you want it as much as she does.”

 _I want it more than she does,_ he thought. _A thousand times more._ “I told you - I'm through with one night stands.”

“Right," Jaime chuckled. "Well, she doesn’t want to date you, or anyone for that matter."

“Because of fuck ups like you and Willas! If I dated her, I’d make her happy.”

“Fine, prove us all wrong and take her out on your little anti-fuck or whatever. Just remember, I warned you.”

“ _Anti-fuck_?” Sandor repeated with disdain. "What the hell is that?"

“Something that's not a one night stand? I don't know. It has a nice ring to it.”

“Sounds dumb as shit.”

Jaime stood there with his eyes closed while the steaming hot water poured onto his back, then started to softly moan. Before Sandor could throw a nearby shoe at him, he said, “You know, if you want to woo her into dating, you should take her up to Visenya’s Hill. One of the best views in the city, quiet, and you wouldn’t have to worry about her trying to hop on your dick if you’re outside.”

After seeing how coy she was last night, no words had ever sounded less true. Still, the suggestion intrigued him. “Where's this hill?”

Jaime wiped the water from his eyes. “Bro, are you serious? You don’t know where Visenya’s Hill is? Look it up on your phone.”

“I can’t," he grumbled, "my phone’s dead. I never charged it last night.”

Jaime found that amusing. “That tired after cranking one out?” Sandor reached for the shoe and threw it at his head. “Fuck, bro! Gods, use my phone and look it up. It should still be unlocked.”

Sandor picked up the phone from the bench. Directions were one thing, but it was images of this 'romantic' hill he wanted to see. When he tapped on the browser icon, the website that loaded gave Sandor pause.

“‘ _Littlefinger’s_ '?” It was an order confirmation, the small image of what Jaime had purchased depicting something very...phallic. “What the fuck is this?”

Jaime sprinted out of the shower, towel-less and dripping wet. “Give me my phone!”

“Thank you for your recent order,” Sandor read aloud, as he stood up from the bench. “I see you paid for same day delivery, too.” He tossed Jaime the phone with the same smug grin he wore during practice. “Who’s fucking who tonight?”

“Kink shame me another day, Clegane,” Jaime said, breathless. “I’ll _tell_ you how to get to Visenya’s Hill.”

  
  


* * *

Four hours later, his phone was charged, his plan was set, and his anxiety was through the fucking roof.

Sandor sat in the bed of his truck, looking out at the parking lot as he awaited Sansa. The sun had set an hour ago, followed by a brisk breeze that was almost too cold, even for him. He had accounted for that though. In the backseat of his truck was the thickest blanket he owned. Tonight, he would wrap it around Sansa's shoulders when they sat atop Visenya's Hill (if she wore that tempting scrap of black fabric and half-missing sweater again, she would freeze without something to cover herself with).

Sitting in the bed of his truck had been a last-minute decision - but a necessary one. Sandor wouldn't risk having Sansa come to his door, knowing if she stepped one foot inside his apartment he wouldn’t have the will power to deny her. Jaime wasn't home, meaning she wouldn't need to wait until she was inside his room before taking off her clothes again. No, he couldn't risk it. He wanted her _bad,_ but not once. How was he supposed to have her only once?

As he sat there, pensive and attempting to suppress his guilt from the night before, his heart lost its rhythm when a sleek white two-door convertible pulled in. The windows were tinted, preventing him from being able to see inside, but he knew it was her. A pretty car for a pretty girl. 

And once it parked twenty feet away from him and the young woman stepped out of the driver's seat, he confirmed that it was.

Sansa looked more beautiful every time he saw her, delicate and ethereal. Her hair wasn't straight like it was the night before, but hung in loose curls down her back. The motion of it blowing in the brisk breeze had a hypnotizing grace, much like that of the sway of her hips. She didn't wear the half-missing sweater and thin black fabric on her legs - she wore something worse, _much_ worse: a casual, deep green dress that hugged her every curve. There were no sleeves, only thin straps, and the dress came to her mid-thigh. It was the worst thing she could have worn to sit outside. But, of course, she didn't know that. Sansa didn't come here for a date, but she'd be getting one.

And he was going to date her _so_ hard. 

While he was ogling at her, discovering there was no way in the seven hells she wearing a bra or panties underneath that tight green devil-fabric, Sansa narrowed her eyes at him as she walked down the sidewalk and said, “Sandor?”

He cleared his throat softly. “Little bird.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“I need to..." _fuck you for ten days straight,_ "run an errand.”

She stopped walking forward at once. “Oh, ok. Do you want me to wait for you to get back?”

“No, I want you to..." _sit on my face,_ "come with me.”

Sansa wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. “Come with you? As in, ride with you in your truck?”

He knew she knew the answer to that; she was nervous, like him, but for a very different reason. “That’s right, girl.”

“Where are we going?”

“I lost the bet, so I need to drive out to Greyjoy’s and pay him before he comes out here to wreck my truck.”

Her pretty, glossy lips that tasted of cherries parted. “Would he really do that?”

Euron _really_ would. It wasn't a lie. “That, and then some.”

“Oh,” she said, followed by silence, silence, _too_ much silence. He could tell that she was contemplating it, he knew that she was considering her options. But judging by the way she was staring at her feet, he knew the next words to pass her lips would not be words he would want to hear.

Sandor didn’t know which would be worse: her leaving, or her waiting for him in her car and expecting him to take her up into his apartment the moment he returned. He looked away from her, unwilling to torture himself any longer by reading her reserved body language. All he needed was one night, a single night to show her that dating him wouldn’t be so fucking bad, that he wouldn't screw it up like Willas and Jaime and whoever else was lucky enough to have a chance with her. He only needed a few hours of one day to prove to her that he could make her happy.

But, as the seconds continued to pass, he realized he wouldn’t be given that opportunity. No, she was still quiet, still standing there on the sidewalk. Or so he hoped. Maybe she already left. He wouldn’t know, all he could see was the bed of his truck. 

Maybe he should have listened to Jaime after all. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe he should just take her upstairs and fuck her the once and be thankful she gave him that much. 

Sandor slowly lifted his eyes.

She was still there, still staring at her feet, still shivering, just like the first night he met her. He could see her nipples poking through that form fitting dress and remembered how they had looked last night after she had taken off her blue lacey bra. How small, how round, how pink.

_Fuck it._

As soon as he decided that he would jump down onto the pavement and carry her off into his apartment, Sansa looked up, smiled, and said, “Well then, for the sake of your truck, I guess we better go.”


	7. Chapter 7

_**SANSA** _

Sandor Clegane’s truck was very clean and the backseat _very_ large. 

His truck was lifted, meaning Sandor had kindly offered to lift her into the passenger seat. And, because it would have been rude not to, Sansa had accepted the offer at once.

And gladly, too.

Those two strong hands picked her up like she weighed nothing, the sensation of him holding her waist for those two short seconds prompting her to become wet between the thighs. The seats were upholstered with the darkest, smoothest leather, and the scent inside was fresh and musky, just like him. While buckling her seat belt, Sansa took a glimpse at the spacious backseat and discovered a thick blanket neatly folded in the center.

All of her suspicions were confirmed.

_He wants to have sex with me in his truck._

Sansa was immediately grateful Brienne had decided to go to the rec that evening for a last minute basketball scrimmage. That meant Sansa wouldn't need to worry about her texting for updates. 

_If Brienne knew he was going to have sex with me in the backseat of his truck, she’d be_ **_livid_** _._

Considering it was only their third time seeing each other, car sex did seem pretty bold. 

_She was right,_ thought Sansa. _Sandor doesn’t respect me._

Yet when he sat down in the driver's seat, a pleasant waft of cool air tousling her curls once he shut the door, Sansa could do nothing other than look at him and want him all the more.

 _Myranda **did** once say the disrespectful ones are the best in bed,_ she remembered. _Or in this case, the best in the backseat._

Sansa had never had car sex before. Well, there was that one time she gave Willas a handjob when they were stuck in traffic for an hour, but there was no pleasure in that for her. Sansa took another glance at the backseat and had a sudden bout of shivers. Even though it was big, so was he. Could he even fit back there? She supposed if he sat there and let her do all the work he could. 

_He wants me to ride him._

She watched as his right hand gripped the gear shift and was left to wonder if that was the same hand he had used to pleasure himself the night before.

When she woke up that morning, Sansa thought maybe it had all been a dream. Surely _that_ did not actually happen. But when she had looked at her call log, confirming the two were indeed on the phone last night for hours (all but one of those hours spent in total silence), she _knew_ it had happened.

Sansa wished she was as bold as Myranda to ask him about it.

_Not only would Randa ask him about it, but she’d offer to do it for him next time._

She needed to channel that Myranda energy, as well as those Margaery vibes. If she acted like Sansa Stark, hopeless romantic and amateur at one-night stands, she’d never be able to ride him in the backseat.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

_Oh my gods, he wants me to ride him in the backseat!_

Sansa looked out the window and into the early night in an effort to hide her anxious smile.

As he drove out the gates, Sandor said, “How was your day, little bird?”

_Little bird._

The nickname made her shiver, despite having heard it for what had to be the tenth time.

Sansa looked at him and squeezed her thighs together. “It was really good. I aced my poetics midterm and got out of work early. How was yours?”

He opened and closed his mouth, hesitating, then removed one _strong_ hand from the steering wheel and placed it on her thigh.

Her thoughts went from mature to x-rated real quick.

“It’s better now,” he said, his rough voice more pleasant to the ear than any ASMR video she'd ever watched.

_Better now that I’m going to ride you in the backseat?_

She blushed so hard that her cheeks felt like they were sunburned. Her intrusive thoughts were starting to sound as dirty as Myranda.

Sandor took a quick glance at her lap before returning his hand to the steering wheel and clearing his throat. “Is that the same purse you needed me to fix?”

Sansa looked down at her little brown leather satchel and needed to refrain herself from beating her head against the dashboard. Somewhere in between curling her hair and shaving every inch of her lower body for the second day in a row, she had forgotten to bring the purse from yesterday - the one that was short one tassel after she pulled it off while leering at _him_.

“No, it’s not,” she said wistfully. “I completely forgot.”

“It’s alright, girl,” he said, oh-so-casual. _Girl._ “Just means you’ll need to come over again tomorrow.”

That caught her off guard. But more than that, it _excited_ her. That is, until she knocked some sense into herself. 

_He wants you to come over for sex, not to fix your stupid purse._ **_You_ ** _came over for sex. Maybe this won’t be just a one night stand, but friends with benefits is as far as it will go. That’s as far as he **wants** it to go, and that’s as far as you **need** it to go. _

She felt the faintest pains of resentment at her former self and considered slamming her head against the dash after all. 

_This is what you wanted._ _No dating. No expectations. No....disappointment._

Sansa took a lengthy breath. “How much further?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “A few minutes. Greyjoy lives down the road.”

 _And how much further to the place I’m going to bounce on you? s_ he would have asked, but she couldn’t quite channel her inner Myranda just yet. She was too busy being Sansa Stark. She was too busy realizing that, despite all the promises she made to herself, she caught feelings. 

She caught them _bad_.

How couldn’t she? Sansa had never been so physically attracted to a man before. Scars and all, he was handsome, more handsome than Harry and Willas and Jaime and all the rest. If that weren't enough, he played hard to get, which made her want him even more. And the worst part, the _absolute_ worst part of it all, was that he was kind to her. That would have been great had it been genuine, but was it? She remembered what he said to her that very first night when he thought it was Jaime who had walked through the door. 

_‘Girls as pretty as her don’t spread their legs unless you...’_

She wondered how he meant to end that remark.

_Unless you’re kind to them. Unless you make them laugh. Unless you offer to fix their purses and give them beer and play hard to get._

Maybe it was all of those. Which would stick around after they had sex? Would _he_ stick around? 

Sansa slumped back in her seat and fell silent, not wanting to betray her newfound feelings for him by talking more than she needed to. She needed to remember her place. _This is for the best._ Dating him would only bring her more disappointment. He could end up being self-absorbed like Jaime, or he could cheat on her like Willas and Harry _both_ did. No, dating was no good; she wanted to be happy, didn’t she?

 _This is what will make me happy,_ she thought, _car sex and the inevitable ‘wyd’ texts._

She looked out the tinted window and sighed. 

Sandor had been right. A few minutes later they were pulling into the notorious Pyke apartments, which were known for their wild parties every weekend. 

Sandor parked just in front of the gate surrounding the pool, where four young men were drinking beer in what had to be the hot tub. The men each turned their heads upon their arrival, raising their hands and squinting from the truck’s glaring headlights. One of them, a man with skin as pale as hers with hair darker than Sandor’s, immediately stepped out of the water, grinning.

“Aren’t they cold?” Sansa mused out loud, forgetting to keep her mouth shut unless necessary. 

Sandor moved the gear shift into park. “Greyjoys die if they’re not in water, little bird.”

 _You don’t need to call me that anymore,_ she wanted to say, in a morose mood after her epiphany on the way over here. _I’m going to ride your dick anyway._

Rather than humiliate herself, she kept quiet and offered him a smile.

Apparently, she shouldn’t have done that.

Sandor looked away at once. “I’ll be right back.”

She sat alone inside his truck and watched as he waited for the grinning pale man at the gate. The heat coming from the air vents was oppressive, or maybe she was hot from fuming at herself for acting so clingy. Without giving it a second thought, Sansa rolled down the window and filled her lungs with the crisp air of the evening, the once vexing breeze suddenly a blessing.

The man she assumed was Euron Greyjoy opened the gate and stepped out onto the sidewalk, his black swim trunks dripping wet.

“Hound!”

Sansa tilted her head. _Hound?_

“Crow’s Eye,” Sandor muttered much quieter.

Euron forked his fingers through his damp hair, seemingly unbothered by the breeze. “Have my money?”

“No, I came here to see your ugly mug. Why else would I be here?” Sandor opened up his wallet and took out a wad of cash.

Greyjoy accepted it with an eager hand. “Wait here while I count it. Last time Kingslayer paid me, I was short.”

_Kingslayer?_

“Is that why you bashed in his windshield?” Sandor grumbled, almost too quiet for her to eavesdrop. That’s what she was doing, by definition - eavesdropping. But, despite knowing it was wrong, she kept the window rolled down.

Euron’s laugh was unsettling. “Nothing gets past you.” He licked two fingers and flipped through the money. Her heart sank like a weight into her stomach when he lifted his eyes in her direction. “You on a date, Hound?”

Sandor’s body visibly stiffened. “I’m on a mind-your-fucking-business. Count your money.”

“Another cleat chaser, huh?” 

Her mouth dropped open, not only at the disgusting remark, but at the sight of Sandor making a fist at his side. Just when she thought he meant to punch Euron in the face, he took one quick look over his shoulder and met her gaze. 

His hand unclenched at once. 

Sandor squared his shoulders and took one step closer to the man counting his money. She couldn’t hear what he was saying to him, but she watched Euron Greyjoy’s cocky smirk transition into something far more sinister.

“Easy, easy, Hound,” said Euron. “We’re all friends here.” He placed a firm hand on Sandor’s shoulder. “You know, now that you’ve paid.”

Sandor swatted his hand away and strode back to the truck.

“Get on the game tonight!” Euron shouted to him. “When you’re done with your date!”

Sandor sat in the driver's seat, seething, and pressed the switch on his left to roll up her window.

Not knowing what else to say after the tense exchange (and not knowing whether he was angry at her for rolling the window down in the first place), Sansa quietly shifted in her seat and said, “Um, why does he call you _Hound_?”

But then something happened. As soon as she spoke, his shoulders fell, his jaw loosened, and when he looked at her, there was a tenderness in his grey eyes. “That’s my alias in the game you saw me playing the other day.”

“Hound?”

“ _The_ Hound.”

Sansa watched the way his mouth moved as he said it, the way his burned lip twitched ever so slightly, and was overcome with the strongest urge to kiss him. 

Their first and only kiss had not lasted longer than a second or two, but she could remember so much about it, each and every detail. The bitter taste of beer on his lips, the strength in his jaw, how his lips were not all the way soft due to the scars, and how they felt all the better because of it... 

_The Hound._

That was so sexy. Why was everything about him so sexy? 

“Oh,” she replied. The dog emoji she added to his contact name was suddenly that much more fitting. “I…” _love it, just like I probably love you,_ “I like it.”

Sandor must have pitied her obvious infatuation with him and smiled, then put the truck into reverse and backed out. “Greyjoy is Crow’s Eye. Lannister is Kingslayer. And you,” he paused to switch gears, then gave her _another_ smile, “you can be Little Bird.”

“ _Me_?” she stammered. “Playing _Storm of Swords_?”

He smiled wider. “So, the little bird knows the game, does she?”

“Well, I’ve seen my brothers play it, but I could never.”

“Why not?”

As he drove off, he leaned in towards her to put on his seat belt, and that pleasant, musky scent of him blessed her nostrils. She held her breath for a moment, never wanting to let it go.

“It looks hard,” she said with an exhale, realizing only then that she was looking at the bulge in his dark jeans. Sandor Clegane didn’t need to wear grey sweatpants to flaunt _it_ off - it was just big. And thick. Just like him. 

_Oh my gods, what is wrong with me?_

Sansa lifted her eyes and discovered him looking right at her, then quickly added, “The game. The game looks hard.”

He was _still_ smiling. She wondered if he knew that. He must _really_ have pitied her. “Not if I’m teaching you.”

Although he was undeniably a bit arrogant, Sansa could not help but find him charming. _Too_ charming. When the urge to kiss him festered into a desperate craving, she looked away and stared out the window once again.

_If you kiss him after what happened last night, you might as well jump right out of this truck._

As if she did not resent herself enough, her stomach started to growl. _Gods be good, don’t you start!_ she thought, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist. Not only was she being betrayed by her feelings, but her own body was acting up in an effort to spoil the evening. Sansa closed her eyes and said a silent prayer for him not to notice, but the next words she heard were:

“Have you eaten?”

She hadn’t, not since lunch. Sansa absolutely _hated_ having sex on a full stomach. But she couldn’t possibly say _that_. “Oh, no, I haven’t,” she answered meekly, “but I’ll eat when I get home.”

“I can take you somewhere.”

 _No, you can’t,_ she thought dejectedly. _That would make this very date-like and you only want to chill. Besides, I swore I’d never date again. I_ **_swore_ ** _it. Had I never made that stupid promise…_

Sansa suppressed a self-loathing sigh and thought of a different excuse. “I’m not dressed to go out.” 

_I’m dressed for a dick appointment, as Brienne kindly put it._

Before her roommate had left for her scrimmage, Sansa had never seen her so jubilant. When she had asked Brienne why she was so happy, the only answer she received was, “Not because of Jaime.” Meaning, it was _most definitely_ because of Jaime. 

“We don’t need to go in anywhere,” said Sandor, as if he wasn’t thoroughly annoyed by the inconvenience like she knew that he was. “What do you want, girl?”

_Girl. I wonder if he calls all the women he sleeps with ‘girl’._

She stared out the window and watched the cars driving beside them, wanting to cry. “Nothing, really it’s fine. I need to be home soon, anyway. I’ll just wait till then.”

“Soon? How soon?”

Sansa was taken aback. He didn’t sound angered by that, but almost disappointed. “Oh, well, I can’t be out too late. I have class in the morning.”

“Right, the straight A student,” he chuckled. “I’ll have you back in two hours.”

Her suspicions were confirmed once again. Not only was he wanting to have sex inside his truck, but he was taking her to a remote place to do it.

 _Did he say_ **_two_ ** _hours?_

Sansa had no idea how she would be able to walk to class tomorrow morning after sitting on that big, thick bulge between his legs for two hours.

 _Maybe I won’t go to class at all,_ she thought. _Maybe, for the first time in my life, I’ll skip._

“Where are we going?” asked Sansa.

He appeared perplexed by that. “What?”

“You said you’d have me back in two hours.”

Sandor stared ahead, expressionless. “I said that?”

Not only did she giggle, but the giggle sounded far too flirtatious and adoring. 

_Damn him._

Sansa composed herself, then said, “Yes, you did. So where are we going?”

“Uh...just some place,” he answered, eyes fixed on the road. “It’s nice out this evening. Would be a waste to stay indoors.”

_Clever. So clever._

She found it odd that he wouldn’t tell her _where_ they were going, but that only added to the thrill. 

_As if having sex with a man I met three days ago isn’t thrilling enough._

Slowly but surely, her arousal was prevailing over her melancholy. 

_If this is the only time we ever ‘chill’, I need to make the most of it. I need to make it a night to remember._

“Alright,” she simpered, with the most alluring smile she could muster.

When he caught her coy expression, Sandor removed one hand from the steering wheel and returned it to her thigh, right where it belonged.

Sansa studied and fantasized about that massive hand for the duration of the car ride. 

Twenty minutes later, she could not believe where it was he had taken her. 

_Visenya’s Hill._

A long, meandering dirt road led up the hill, a rather dangerous drive considering how dark it was. Either side of the road was lined with trees, mostly sentinels that provided all the shelter (and privacy) in the world. She had never been to the famous Visenya’s Hill; she had heard it to be a place of romance, but apparently it was a place to do the deed inside trucks, too. After driving higher and higher, Sandor turned right onto a second unmarked road and passed by several parked cars with steamy windows along the way.

Considering it was renowned for its beautiful view of the city, it was rather empty. Then again, it _was_ a Monday night.

Once he found a secluded spot just beside one of the largest sentinels she had ever seen, he threw the gear shift into park and took off his seat belt. 

“Wait here, girl,” Sandor told her. Was his voice shaking, or was the altitude messing with her ears? “Anyone could be lurking in these trees. Let me take a look around first.”

“Oh, ok," she said, fifty percent thrilled and fifty percent terrified. Sansa knew that she needed a pep talk before steaming up his windows; this was her only chance.

As soon as the door closed, she took her phone out of her purse and opened up the trusty group chat.

**_Sansa:_ ** _OMG OMG OMG! He took me to Visenya’s Hill!_

 **_Randa:_ ** _GURL_

 **_Margaery:_ ** **😍😍😍**

 **_Randa:_ ** _Beefcake wants a view of KL while he’s tearing up ur_ 🐱

 **_Sansa:_ ** _I’m so nervous!_ 😭 _He left to make sure no one will bother us, so now I’m sitting in his truck and freaking all the way out._

 **_Margaery:_** _You should get_ _naked before he comes back_ 😉

 **_Randa:_ ** _YASSS!! STRIP HOE!!_

 **_Sansa:_ ** _OMG_ 😰 _idk if I can do that again. We were playing a game last time I did that...I don’t want to look stupid._

 **_Randa:_ ** _U won’t. Just don’t kiss him_

 **_Randa:_ ** _And let beefcake put his pp in u this time_

 **_Sansa:_ ** **🙄** _I hate you_

 **_Margaery:_** _H_ _ahaha_ 😂 

**_Randa:_ ** _Love u 2_ 😘

 **_Margaery:_ ** _WE BELIEVE IN YOU, SAN_ 💞 

**_Randa:_ ** _ur gonna do amazing sweetie 🍆💦_

  
  


Sansa really _did_ roll her eyes at that, then set down her phone. But, as Sansa had hoped, the group chat left her feeling as dauntless (and horny) as she had the night before.

 _Make it a night to remember._

Sansa took off her seat belt, crawled into the backseat, and picked up the folded blanket. The wool was thick and scratchy in her hands, yet somehow knowing it belonged to Sandor Clegane made the it feel as soft and weightless as silk. Once she unfolded it, she spread it out on the dark leather seats before sitting down and taking a long, deep breath.

_He’ll be back any minute. Just do it._

Heeding her friends’ advice, Sansa pulled the thin straps off her shoulders and stood up as best as she could to slip out of the bodycon dress. Underneath she was fully naked, and sat down on the scratchy woolen blanket as her heart leapt inside her chest.

_What do I do now? Lie on my back? Bend over? Sit here with my knees spread apart?_

Each position sounded more ridiculous than the last. She already knew that she needed to be on top. As she sat there and waited, bouncing one foot up and down and growing wetter between the thighs, Sansa heard her phone vibrate from the front seat. 

Curious (and desperate to pretend like she wasn’t naked as her name day in the back seat of Sandor Clegane’s truck), she reached for her phone and tapped the screen.

It was a FB notification; Brienne posted a new life event.

Sansa swiped up and read her roommate’s latest status.   
  


💕

**_In a Relationship with Jaime Lannister_ **

_What the..._

The phone fell into her bare lap, just as the door on the driver's side was opening.

“All clear, little bird. Let’s g-” 

Sandor paused once he saw that she was no longer in the passenger seat, then leaned forward and took a single glance in her direction. Her heart was beating so hard that Sansa could feel her breasts jiggle with every heavy thump. Sandor Clegane’s eyes went from her face down to her breasts, and then to where her phone sat in the junction between her bare thighs.

“Seven fuck me,” he breathed, then slammed the door shut, hitting her with a waft of air as cold as ice.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a feeling this would happen. 
> 
> I made the decision of changing the rating of this story from Mature to Explicit after writing a certain scene at the end of this chapter. Even though this fic has been pretty raunchy up to this point, I truly did not intend for there to be _explicit_ sexual content. Well, that didn’t happen hahaha. Considering all the sexual tension that has been built up between SanSan, it only seemed right that they get it on _for real_. 
> 
> If I was a more experienced writer and better with prose, I’m sure I could have figured out a way to resolve all the tension without being so cheap and explicit. But alas, I am who I am. I quite enjoy writing “cheap smut” and didn’t feel okay with toning it down to the point the scene would have faded to black.
> 
> So, in order to be fair to everyone, what I did was include a line to separate the chapter into two parts. If you don’t want to read the _nasty_ (I mean, it’s not _that_ bad, and it’s actually a little funny to fit the theme of this fic, but it does warrant an Explicit rating), just stop reading once you get to the line! If you’re cool with reading the smut, go ahead and continue!
> 
> This note may seem extra, but I would not be okay with not taking the responsibility for switching up on y’all right at the end. The next/very last chapter will still make sense even if you don’t read the smut at the end of this one, so please don’t feel like you can no longer enjoy the ending of this story!
> 
> Again, I apologize! I know it’s not very cash money of me to promise one thing and then write another. Feel free to come at me in the comments - I can take it.
> 
> Enjoy!

_**SANDOR** _

Pacing back and forth atop Visenya’s Hill with a full-on erection and feebly trying to get the image of Sansa Stark’s perfect tits out of his head, Sandor answered his phone to hear Jaime shouting with joy from the other end of the line, “Brienne’s my girlfriend, Clegane! My wench! She’s my-”

Sandor threw his phone against the nearest tree.

This couldn’t go on any longer. It couldn’t. He was going to march right back over there and tell that naked vixen sitting in the backseat of his truck the truth - the _entire blessed_ truth.

 _I want to date you, little bird,_ he would say. _I want to be the one shouting at Jaime that you’re my girlfriend. I want us to be a couple - you and me. Then, and only then, will I fuck you into next week._

There - he came up with the words. Now all he needed to do was return to his truck and say them out loud. Easy enough. Or at least it would be if he remembered to think with the one head instead of the other when staring at her tits. 

He walked over and picked up his phone, the screen now sufficiently cracked, then slipped it into his back pocket. 

Sandor inhaled deeply. _It’s time._

Before he could turn around to recite his speech to the naughty little bird, a door slammed shut behind him, followed by the sweetest little voice shouting over the wind.

“What’s your problem?!”

A smile played on his lips. 

_A naughty little bird - and angry._

Like clockwork, the moment he heard Sansa’s voice he was hard again. Was it wrong to be so turned on by her frustration? Maybe he could understand Jaime’s mace fetish after all. 

Sandor turned on his heel and rejoiced in the sight of the woman before him.

 _A naughty, angry,_ **_dangerous_ ** _little bird._

Her eyebrows were furled into a scowl, her cherry-flavored lips were pursed, and her long, curly hair billowed behind her in the wind. But his favorite part? The naughty, angry, dangerous little bird was wrapped up in the thick woolen blanket he had brought. The very same one she was sitting on a moment ago hoping to get fucked. She was _wrapped up_ in it, like an infant in a swaddle.

Sansa Stark was, without a doubt, the most beautiful and ridiculous thing he had ever seen. 

His smile turned into a laugh. “You really are something, do you know that?”

Her pursed lips parted open to say, in a stern shout, “ _Excuse me_?”

“Hard work,” he doubled down, teasing her the same way he had that very first night. “I knew it from the moment I saw you.”

Her scowl remained; she wasn’t backing down. 

_Gods, what a sight,_ thought Sandor. _Come on and bring out the mace._

“How am I _hard work_?” she asked, with a mocking tone he could not help but fucking _love_.

When he barked out a hearty laugh, her frown deepened. “You know how. You’re playing games with me.”

“ _Me_?” she exclaimed, in the midst of another frigid gust. Now she was the one that was laughing. “What about _you_?”

“What have I done, girl?”

One might have thought he had just told her to go fuck herself given the offended expression on her face. “That right there! Calling me ‘girl’ all the time.”

His face was beginning to hurt from smiling so long. “What’s wrong with that?”

That appeared to stump her, which only frustrated her some more. “It’s...well...it’s...oh, never mind!”

“No, go on!” Sandor shouted right back, grinning. “Tell me how I’m the one playing games. I want to know.”

Sansa leaned back against the truck in her swaddle. “Where do I even begin?”

He was enjoying this too much. Sandor couldn’t help but find himself more drawn to her the angrier she became. It was glaringly obvious that Sansa hated him for slamming the door in her face minutes ago; he had nothing to lose, not anymore. So he kept on. 

“The beginning might be a good start,” he quipped.

The little bird’s mouth fell open, then closed; she was speechless, her pretty blue eyes shooting daggers at him. And he took it gladly. It was only after he crossed his arms and smiled as smugly as he could did she finally speak. 

“Alright.” Sansa waited for the breeze to settle before saying, “How do you explain wearing _grey sweatpants_ yesterday?”

Sandor was not expecting that. He snorted. Was she trying to be more amusing than she already was? “Is it a crime to wear grey sweatpants?”

That seemed to stump her, too. “I mean, no...but…”

“Oh, I see,” Sandor interrupted, the realization making him let out another laugh. “If a man wears grey sweatpants, you _dirty_ women assume we want you staring at our junk?”

The pale moonlight betrayed her blushing cheeks. “Forget about that. Explain why you wanted to play that stripping game.”

“Nice try, girl - that was _your_ idea. How was I supposed to know there would be three goals in two minutes?”

Sansa was visibly displeased by that. “Fine! Explain why you tossed me onto my back. Explain to me why you had a condom in your hand! What was that? And the fact that you…” she trailed off, suddenly appearing meek. 

That intrigued him. “The fact that I what? Don’t act shy now, little bird. You’ve been doing so well.”

Sansa locked eyes with him and stepped away from the truck, no longer meek, but as vicious as a wolf. “The fact that you jerked off last while we were on the phone!” 

His grin fell. “No wonder.”

“No wonder what?”

Sandor took two steps forward, and then another. “No wonder you wanted me to tell you what I’d do to you. So much for ‘I didn’t hear a thing, certainly not you busting a nut, is everything all right?’” He said it in a high pitched, singsong voice, his best attempt at mocking her. 

Her cute little nose wrinkled; she was _fuming_. “Well I didn’t think it was very fair that you were having all the fun! I might have had fun, too, had you not fallen asleep!”

“I didn’t fall asleep, Miss straight A student!”

“I heard you snoring!”

“I faked it!”

“What? Why would you do that?!”

“For the same reason I stopped myself yesterday, and for the same reason I didn’t get into the backseat with you!” Sandor paused and took a moment to collect his thoughts. What were the words he meant to recite again? Something about dating and girlfriends and shouting at Jaime? He couldn’t remember for the life of him. Sansa stood no more than a foot away from now, having taken all those frustrated steps towards her. He could touch her if he wanted to; he did want to, more than anything. He wanted to rip off that blanket and fuck her on the grass in the light of the moon. He wanted to get down on both knees and beg her to stay, beg her not to hate him. 

_Did I really just yell at her? What the fuck am I thinking? What the fuck is wrong with-_

“What reason?” asked Sansa, so sweetly. Her eyes no longer pierced when they stared up at him, but they seemed to caress. They soothed him. They calmed him. Her eyes were his muse to be a gentler man.

“I want you,” he managed, in a single heavy breath. “I want you so bad.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes, not in anger, but confusion. “If you want me, why do you keep denying me?”

“Because I don’t want you only once,” he confessed, feeling a great weight lift from his shoulders. “And I don’t want you only in that way. I want... _you_. All of you.”

Her vivid eyes blinked, her lips parted open, but all she said was, “Oh.”

Sandor knew he was standing on the precipice of rejection, but it was too late to turn back now. He’d see this thing through to the end. “But you don’t want to date, do you?”

For the first time since hopping out of his truck, the bundled little bird looked away and stared down at her feet, just like she had done when he asked her to come ride with him in the first place. He wasn’t on the precipice of rejection, he was already falling. 

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to,” Sansa said, so quietly that the words were nearly lost with the breeze. “It’s just, I-”

“-think I’ll fuck up like Willas and Jaime?” He didn’t mean to blatantly curse. Then again, there was no point in censoring himself now. Holding back a few f-bombs wouldn’t change her mind about him. 

Her head snapped up. “How do you know about Willas?”

Sandor hesitated. _Fuck._ “Doesn’t matter how I know. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you don’t date? Because of fuck ups like Tyrell and Lannister?”

“Because every time I date and have expectations, I’m always...”

“...disappointed?” 

It must have been the very word Sansa was thinking of, because when she looked up at him, her eyes twinkled in the pale light, tears brimming. And then he saw it on her face. That beautiful face was wrought with it - disappointment. 

That’s what it had been this whole time.

He wasn’t a straight A student like her, but Sandor always prided himself on his ability to see through everyone’s bullshit. He could sniff a lie the moment it hit the air, yet somehow three days had passed and he couldn’t decipher what it was Sansa was feeling. Maybe he had been projecting his own insecurities on her this whole time. Yes, that’s what it was. He couldn’t fathom her wanting to date him, so he wrote off all her sighs and frowns as disgust and disdain. But it hadn’t been that at all. It was never that.

Now he could see it. And how obvious it was. Sansa Stark _did_ want to date him. She wanted to date him this entire time. She was only stopping herself, just like he was by not sleeping with her. Sansa had lowered her expectations, whereas he had raised them. Sex without dating for her, dating before sex for him. It was a fucking miracle it had gone on this long. And she...she thought he didn’t _want_ her? Sansa Stark, a fucking ten out of ten in every positive aspect, thought he denied her _willingly_?

No, it had gone on long enough.

Sandor cupped her jaw with one hand and met her gaze. “Don’t date me, then,” he found himself saying, like a dumbass. “Just...fall asleep with me on the phone like we did last night, but every night. Just let me teach you about football so you can watch it and enjoy it even if no one scores. Just tell me more about your family, even that little sister of yours who sounds like she was born in the seven hells. Just let me fix your broken purses and give you sips of beer when your roommate isn’t looking.” Sandor’s hand grew firm on her jaw, without becoming ungentle. He wanted her to know he was serious. He _needed_ her to know. “Gods, just let me deserve you before I fuck the living shit out of you. You don’t need to date me, little bird. Just... _stay_. Just-”

“-undate you?” Sansa asked sweetly, as soon as the wind fell away.

The two words hung there for a short time, giving him a chance to savor the moment. The sentinel trees around them gave out the expected earthy smell, but not even they could overpower the sweet scent of her. She was intoxicating in every regard, fucking stunning in every way a person could be. Her hair looked darker in the night, but the copper strands would almost twinkle when they were met with the light of the moon.

Sandor could have stared at her for days and his awe would’ve never lessened.

“Undate,” he finally exhaled with a laugh. _That’s a much better term than the one Jaime came up with._ “Yes, little bird. Undate me.”

She blinked and then a single tear rolled down her cheek. He did not hesitate to wipe it away with his thumb, caressing skin smoother than silk and eliciting a smile. 

“This was the best undate I’ve ever had,” Sansa sniffled. “But not as good as the one tomorrow, or the one after that.”

The implication gave him the chills the cool air blowing around them never could. “Sansa…”

When she opened her arms and wrapped them around his neck, the blanket fell, leaving her as naked as her name day. As she clung to him with her body pressed against his, Sandor could feel her warm breath on his mouth and licked his lips. Sansa was trembling in his arms, so cold and delicate. He could not remember a time he’d felt such joy, watching her eyes close and her lips pucker. The feeling shot right through him and grew tenfold once he brought his face close to hers.

And then, a feeling he had never felt consumed him once he found her lips with his own.

Their second kiss, lasting far longer than the first, enlivened his senses. The taste of her lips did not only taste of cherries, but of oranges and lemons and peaches. He could feel the two dimples on the small of her back where his hand rested, and the sensation of her stiff nipples as they pressed against his body. The smell of her...gods, nothing could compare. He listened as their tongues found one another with a matched eagerness, joined by the softest moans that left her mouth and echoed in his. Sandor’s eyes were closed, but the darkness behind his eyelids seemed brighter, colorful even, now that she was in his embrace.

She felt like fucking heaven in his arms. She felt like good days and happiness and laughter, things of which he had never had much of. Now he had it all. And, despite knowing not a thing about it, he knew that Sansa Stark felt like love.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


There was no sense in stopping himself, not any longer. 

Without breaking their embrace, Sandor lifted her up, carried her to his truck, and blindly reached for the handle. Once he threw the door wide open, he climbed into the backseat with her still in his arms. That didn’t go as smoothly as planned and he bumped his head against the roof of the truck and muttered, “Fuck!”

Sansa giggled against his mouth, the sensation of it as sweet as her kisses. 

Once inside the warm cabin of his truck, he laid her onto the leather seats and slammed the door shut. He studied her as he sat with his back against the window, her round breasts rising and falling, her slim legs bending to give him room. And from that vantage point, he could _see_ the mound between them, even in the dimly lit space. 

His cock was rock fucking solid. If Sansa didn’t refuse him, he wasn’t going to refuse himself. Sandor looked her in the eyes, and, very, very slowly, placed his hands on her knees. Once he observed her eyes close and her back arch, a beautiful and _encouraging_ response, he spread her knees apart and lowered his gaze.

“Seven fucking take me,” he said in awe.

Her legs spread to reveal even more of her bare, pale skin, and beneath that, the pinkest, most beautiful pussy he’d ever seen. Not even the dimness of the backseat could hide the fact that she was wet, utterly _drenched_ by the looks of it, watching as it glistened in the near darkness. His hand fell from her knee, brushed against her inner thigh, then cupped that perfect pale pink mound.

 _Oh fuck_ , she was warm. 

Sansa shuddered and let out a whimper, as he softly ran a finger down her lips. 

Wetter than he could fucking believe. 

A lengthy moan escaped him, deep with longing. Sandor ran his finger up and down some more, coating every inch of her pussy with her slickness. She was writhing on the back seat with her hands covering her face, moaning and rocking her hips. It was perfect. She was perfect. Sandor slid a finger inside. 

Wet and warm and so _fucking_ tight. 

There was not a chance in the seven hells he’d last longer than five minutes inside her. She took him greedily, clenching around his one finger and then the two, as he drove them in and out of her pussy at a steady pace. Gods, he could nut like that, without laying one hand on himself. Despite fucking her with his fingers, he could feel her tightness around his cock. Sansa was becoming wetter, so wet that it dripped onto the leather seats. 

_Good._

He wanted to taste her, he _needed_ to, but when he tried to awkwardly shift his body and place himself between her thighs, Sansa sat up, her face flushed and hair tousled, and said, “Wait, I want to ride you.”

Sandor’s cock threatened to tear right through his jeans.

 _Now it won’t be five minutes that I last,_ he thought, _but three._

He was frozen for a moment, staring at her like a complete dumbass, until she pushed against his chest and said, “Don’t you want to sit down?”

_I sure fucking do._

He bumped his head against the ceiling again and cursed before finding a comfortable spot in the middle of the backseat. Sansa straddled him at once and took the initiative of unzipping his jeans and pulling out his cock with one cold, slender hand.

“Oh gods! You’re so big,” she gasped, then looked at him, wide eyed and blushing. 

No doubt Sansa thought she sounded ridiculous, but Sandor was one cock-compliment away from busting a nut in her hand.

_Busting….a….nut…._

Sandor immediately considered jumping off Visenya’s Hill. 

“I don’t have a condom,” he confessed, his voice low and throaty now that Sansa was jerking him off.

She giggled, as if it were trivial matter. “What?”

“I don’t keep them….in here...oh fuck, that feels good….I never planned on…”

“You weren’t lying about not wanting to have sex,” she teased him, before kissing his lips. 

“We can go back to my place,” he suggested, though the words were all muffled due to Sansa’s tongue being halfway down his throat. 

_A good girl, yet as wild as a wolf when aroused._

Sansa bit his lip. “Or...we can stay here. I’m on the pill.”

Sandor pulled away from her kiss, like a dumbass. Was she offering to fuck him _raw_? He wouldn’t last three minutes, he’d last two. He looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was the top of the hour.

“Are you sure?” asked Sandor.

She pouted and stroked him harder. “Do you think I’d lie about something like that?”

She was getting irritated again, which only made him want her more. His cock twitched in her hand. “No, are you... _fuck_...sure you want to?”

“Yes, but only if you’re comfortable with it,” she said, doe-eyed.

 _Only if_ **_I’m_ ** _comfortable with it?_

Sandor grabbed the back of her neck and brought her face an inch away from his, their lips almost touching. “Say less, little bird.”

They kissed deeper and harder than before, their breath mingling as he helped her pull down his jeans. Sansa continued to stroke him with grace and delicacy, though her mouth and tongue were doing quite the opposite. He didn’t know how to kiss, not like this, but that wouldn’t stop him. She pulled away for a moment and made to dismount him so she could get on her knees, but he knew himself and stopped her at once. 

If her lips so much as grazed his cock, he’d be done. 

Instead, he fondled her breasts and took one pink nipple into his mouth. Gods, he could suck her all day. Sansa’s whimpers were high-pitched and breathy, as she seamlessly guided herself on top of him. It was _right there_ , his head teasing open her pussy. He could feel the warmth, the slickness, her insatiable craving of wanting him to fill it. As he went from one nipple to the other, sucking and licking and tugging with his teeth, Sansa held his cock and lowered herself on him.

She became the world.

His head fell back against the seat. “Seven fucking hells, you’re wet.” 

Sandor already knew that, but the sensation of his cock being swathed in it was something completely different. This was how sex was supposed to feel - intimate and soul-inspiring, not an act of physical labor to get a quick fix, as it had always been before her. 

But _this_... 

_Fuck_. 

Sandor placed his hands on her round little ass as it swiveled on top of him. That was a mistake, he realized, when he felt himself on the verge of blowing his load. 

He was doomed; Sansa was going to finish him off in the first ten seconds. Sandor didn’t know what to do - _she_ was in control, not him. He placed his hands on her thighs instead and closed his eyes. 

_Don’t listen to her moans, don’t listen to her moans. Think of something awful like old, wrinkled septas or Jaime’s blonde hairy ass_. 

There, that was working. His balls no longer felt like they might burst, and he could finally breathe through the sensation of Sansa’s pussy embracing him with a vice-like grip. That is, until she reached back and _grabbed_ his balls. 

His eyes shot open, and he found Sansa biting her lower lip and _smiling_ at him. 

“Oh, fuck me,” he groaned.

“Does that feel good?” Sansa simpered, as she _fondled_ them.

She might as well have asked him if wanted to shoot his load inside her. The answer was an obvious _yes_. 

“Sansa...what the… _fuck_.”

A merciless thing she was. Sansa Stark rode him _faster_ and her moans became _louder_.

“You’re so sexy when you curse,” she whimpered, her titties jiggling in his face.

He was doomed, so doomed. “What the fuck is happening?” 

When Sansa giggled, her pussy squeezed him tighter. “Yes, just like that. Oh, you’re so sexy, Sandor.”

If this was only a dream, he’d make his way back to Visenya’s Hill and jump off the highest ledge. He wanted to talk dirty back and worship her like she deserved, but he was too busy focusing on _not_ coming. 

She was _ruthless_. Sansa placed her hands on his shoulders and bounced up and down. The soft, wet sounds in cadence with the sound of her ass slapping against his thighs made him growl like something not human. 

_Seven fucking hells, this girl can ride._ _Quick, think of Jaime’s hairy ass again._ It worked a second time, but that only lasted until she spoke.

“Sandor, it feels so good,” she moaned, _speeding up_.

 _Gods, stop saying that before I fucking nut,_ he would have said, had his jaw not been clenched. _Tell me you hate it. Tell me it's the worst._

“I _love_ it. Oh, it’s the best!”

_Jaime’s ass. Jaime’s ass. Jaime’s ass._

He had to have lasted ten minutes by now. Sandor opened his eyes, averting his gaze from the titties bouncing an inch away from his face, and squinted at the clock on the dashboard.

It had only been three minutes.

_What the fuck._

She only got warmer and wetter the longer she bounced, and then tighter every time his cock seemed to hit that sweet spot that made her whole body shudder. When that happened, she would slow down and sway her hips from side to side. She was making it last _longer_. Sansa Stark was delaying her release, just like he was. If she came first, he could still fuck her, but him...he wouldn’t be be able to get hard for another week after the orgasm he was about to have. 

He looked at the clock again: four minutes.

_Sandor “four minutes” Clegane._

_Fuck it._

He took the risk, knowing she was close, and seized her waist, his thumb brushing her little bird tattoo. Gods, she was so small, so delicate. Sandor felt like he would break her in half if he held onto her too tightly. And judging by how much of a freak in the backseat she was, Sansa would probably moan in delight as he did it. 

“Oh, yes,” she encouraged him. “Come inside my pussy.”

There was _no way_ he heard that right. 

“What did you say?” he panted, as he lifted her up and down.

Sansa placed her mouth on his, then said in between hot and heavy tongue kisses, “Oh gods...I’m going to come...come inside me….come inside me...oh, gods...I’m coming!”

There would be a nice, scalding spot awaiting him in the seven hells for what he was about to do.

Once her movements became languid as she rode out her release, Sandor took over and bounced her on top of him until his balls elevated and the tension that had been built over the course of three long days was released. 

And what a release it was, all-consuming and the best he’d ever had. 

Sandor bit the curve of her neck as came, moaning with pleasure, groaning in agony, and shooting his load inside her as if his life depended on it. All the while, Sansa was planting the softest of kisses on his scars and threading her fingers through his hair. He could die right then and there and he would have lived a life worth living. 

He jolted a few times afterward, his cock spasming inside her as it grew soft, then wrapped his arms so tightly around her waist. 

_Love._ That’s what she felt like. _Love._

When the last of him was spent, Sandor placed a firm hand on either side of her face and pressed his forehead to hers. “Little bird,” he panted, equal parts desperate and exhausted. _I love you,_ he thought, but before he could fill his lungs and get the words out, Sansa kissed his nose and said, “I love you, Sandor.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little ending for you all! Enjoy!

**_SANSA_ **

“Pick the greatsword,” her boyfriend murmured in her ear. “No, not that little needle. The greatsword, little bird. _Ice_.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at the television and moved the analog stick to the left. Once the sword popped up on her side of the screen, she shifted in his lap, not so innocently, and said, “This thing? But it’s so _big_.”

Chuckling, Sandor draped her hair over one shoulder and kissed the curve of her neck. “Now, where have I heard that before?”

“Can we _please_ focus on the game?” Brienne groaned from the other end of the couch. “Honestly, if I hear one more sexual innuendo from you two, Jaime and I will leave for the movie early.”

“You heard my woman,” said Jaime, sitting in Brienne’s lap with the second controller. “Pick your weapon, Sansa, or in five seconds the game will do it for you.” 

“She knows what to do!” Sandor snapped. “Focus on your own shit, _Kingslayer_.”

Before a brawl would break out between the two (again), Sansa pressed the X button to select the giant grey sword named "Ice".

It wasn’t her first time playing the ultra-gory and a-little-too-realistic video game titled “Storm of Swords”. In the past three _amazing_ months since becoming Sandor Clegane’s girlfriend, Sansa was shown the ropes of playing his favorite game. 

At least, he _tried_ to teach her. 

Somehow, every video game session ended up with her lying on her back or bent over Sandor’s bed. Well, that couldn’t happen now, not with Brienne and Jaime sitting six feet away. Besides, in an hour, all four of them would be going out for their first ever double date. 

That’s right - _date_. From undates to double dates. A lot can happen in three short months. 

After their impromptu gaming session, they would head to the movie theater to see “Jenny of Oldstones” - a total chick flick, through and through. One might have thought the movie was Sansa or Brienne’s idea, but the girls actually left it up to Sandor and Jaime to buy the tickets in advance. To her and her roommate’s surprise, the guys chose the romantic drama about a woman and her fallen lover over the action-packed war movie nominated for seven Valyrian Awards, “Robert’s Rebellion”.

Brienne might have preferred the critically acclaimed movie, but Sansa was more than thrilled to see the sappy sad love story everyone was talking about. And judging by how often Jaime kept checking the time on his phone, so was he.

After the movie, they’d grab dinner and a few drinks, even though Jaime hardly ever drank since meeting Brienne. If she and Sandor weren’t in utter bliss, Sansa would find herself jealous of her roommate’s relationship.

Jaime was Brienne’s first boyfriend, and judging by the way he worshipped the ground she walked on, he’d be the last (they’d be engaged as soon as Bri graduated from uni, Sansa was sure of it). Brienne had never been happier, though the two _did_ have their shouting matches from time to time. Those always ended up in Jaime's bedroom, and when that happened, she and Sandor would put as many miles between them and the apartment as possible. They were almost louder and raunchier than even them.

And, at some point before the night was through, Sansa and Brienne would finally reveal their surprise: four plane tickets.

In two months, they’d be headed north to Sansa’s hometown, Winterfell, for the annual week-long summer festival. Brienne’s father would be meeting them there, as he was a close family friend of Sansa’s parents, which meant it would be the perfect opportunity for their boyfriends to _finally_ meet their families. 

For better or worse. Sansa had a bad feeling about her no-filter little sister meeting Sandor, and Brienne would tell her almost every single day, “When Jaime meets my father, he’s going to make an absolute ass out of himself”.

Whatever awaited them that summer, it would be a week they'd never forget.

Once their weapons were chosen, the game’s loading screen popped up with her and Jaime’s knights facing off.

Sansa’s knight, Little Bird, was customized from head to toe. She had used Sandor’s gold dragons (the currency in the game) to buy all sorts of stuff: armor studded with diamonds, a helm decorated with blue roses, and even a shield decorated with a dove that looked just like her tattoo.

Jaime’s was quite the opposite. Kingslayer was his knight’s name, fully garbed in reflective golden armor with a snarling lion’s head on the front along with a lion’s helm to match. He looked outrageously pompous. Then again, Sansa was in no position to judge, not when her knight’s suit gleamed in the sun as she swaggered about the arena and fed off the crowd.

As the video game narrator's low, deep voice counted down the seconds, Jaime snorted and said, “I can’t believe I’m fighting a knight named Little Bird.”

“Little Bird is about to kick your ass all the way to Dorne,” Sandor said, ever defensive.

Sansa highly, _highly_ doubted it. When Sandor would play the game while she sat on his bed and studied, she would regularly catch glimpses of the leaderboard. Jaime was number two in the country, Sandor was third, and the champion went by the alias of the fictional legendary hero, Azor Ahai.

That was her brother, Jon. But she had yet to tell either of them _that_. 

“THREE...TWO...ONE...FIGHT.”

The match began, and her cheerleader and coach wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Back up, back up, back up,” Sandor advised her anxiously as Jaime’s knight approached. “Now press A to swing right. Press A, girl. Now, little bird! Do it now!”

Sansa would be too deaf from his play calling to enjoy her chick flick later that night. Not to mention his urgency was making her palms begin to sweat. “Oh my gods, stop that! You’re scaring me!”

“And _cheating_ , Clegane!” Jaime whined, after his knight took a brutal hit that stole a quarter of his health. “You don’t see my beauty behind me yelling in my ear...though I wish she would.”

Brienne sighed. “Will you be quiet and play the game?”

Sandor’s arms wrapped tighter around her waist. “Press circle, press circle!” She did, but not quick enough, her shield failing to block a nasty swing from Jaime's sword. “Fuck, Lannister!”

“I am number two in Westeros, bro!" Jaime bragged. "Number two!” 

Sansa frantically backed up and waited for Sandor to say, “Press the triangle! Now, now, now!” When she did, Little Bird’s greatsword, Ice, swung an uppercut, catching Jaime right in the chin. Sandor leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Nice one, little bird!”

“My helm flew off!” Jaime cried out. “Fuck! That’s it! I’m not losing to a knight named Little Bird!”

Sansa was in a fit of giggles, until Kingslayer came at her and violently slashed at her with his sword.

“Move left, girl!” Sandor shouted so loud that her ears rang afterward. “Your other left!”

“Stop scaring me!” Sansa screamed, in a high pitched voice. “Oh gods, I don’t want to die!” 

She held her thumb on the right analog stick and ran around and around in circles to escape Jaime’s knight. The animated crowd started booing. The sight of the cat and mouse chase was so ridiculous that Brienne burst into exuberant laughter. “You’ll never kill him that way, Sansa!” 

Kingslayer halted in place, as Jaime looked over his shoulder at Brienne. “Do my ears deceive me, or is my beauty rooting against me?”

She saw the golden opportunity, as did Sandor. 

Sansa turned her sparkling knight around and lumbered towards the gold knight.

“Right trigger and X,” Sandor said, this time in hushed tones to keep from alerting his distracted roommate. “Now, girl.”

Sansa did as she was told. As she ran up to her motionless enemy, she held down one trigger, pressed one button, and then watched her knight slice straight across Kingslayer's exposed neck.

His golden-haired head rolled.

Sandor lifted her up at once, jumping from the couch. “My girlfriend is the greatest person in the whole fucking world!”

She dropped the controller and wrapped her legs around him. “Oh gods! Put me down!”

He did, a little, but only until their faces were at level with one another. Sansa could see it in his eyes, that devil of mischief coming out to play. With her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist, it was quite obvious what he was thinking. And then even more obvious once his hands cupped her ass and squeezed.

Sansa gave him a kittenish smile.

_A new position to try._

Their intimate gaze was broken when Jaime threw his controller across the room. “I lost to a knight named Little Bird!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. He sprang up from Brienne’s lap and brought both hands to his head. “I lost! Me, Kingslayer!”

As Jaime ranted on, Brienne sat on the couch and clapped her hands as she laughed.

With a heavy sigh, Sandor set her down and said, “You slay kings, _Kingslayer_ , not birds.”

“I’m ranked number two in the country, bro!” Jaime clearly felt the need to remind him again.

“It was an unranked match, _bro_. Now quit your bitching and give the controller to Brienne.”

While Sandor and Brienne were choosing their knight and weapon of choice, Sansa nuzzled into his side and said, “What did you name your knight, Brienne?”

Brienne opened her mouth to speak, but it was Jaime who answered, beaming with pride. “ _Brienne of Tarth_. Simple, yet elegant. Humble, classic-”

“Hey Lannister,” her boyfriend interrupted, as he customized his longsword, “do me a favor and shut the fuck up.”

Jaime bristled at that. _Oh no,_ Sansa thought, _not_ **_another_ ** _fight._ She prayed they’d be better behaved on their week-long summer vacation to Winterfell; it was a miracle the two survived living together for so many years. Ultimately, Jaime settled on sitting beside his girlfriend and cursing under his breath.

Sansa sighed with relief and looked at the TV.

The loading screen read, “The Hound vs Brienne of Tarth”. Unlike the previous two knights, both Sandor’s and Brienne’s wore simpler armor. The Hound’s was dark and plain, his helm a snarling dog’s head - very apt (and sexy). Brienne’s knight wore a cobalt blue suit of armor and as standard of a helm as the game allowed. 

When the match began, Sansa could hardly believe her eyes.

Brienne was good. _Very_ good. 

Apparently when Brienne and Jaime had played the game together, she had actually learned something instead of ending up on all fours. 

Sandor was struggling, _truly_ struggling. Sansa kept a tally of how many times he cursed in the first two minutes of the five minute round.

Twenty-four.

“Fucking seven fucking hells!” Sandor went on and on after being dealt a vicious blow that took away half of his health. “Fuck you, Lannister!”

Jaime held out his hands. “What the…I’m not even playing!”

One five minute round passed without a winner, and then another. If there was no gory kill by the end of the third, the game would decide a winner. Sansa would have cheered Sandor on, but he was definitely the type to prefer silence over cheers, which is why Jaime made sure to yell very, very loudly when he rooted for Brienne.

Sansa tried to keep count of his curses, which were all aimed at Jaime, but they came so quickly that she had no choice but to give up. That, and Sansa was having a tough time not erupting into giggling fit at how much of a fight Brienne was giving him.

And then _it_ happened.

Brienne of Tarth caught him at the perfect moment and drove her longsword straight through the Hound’s chestplate. When her knight pulled it back out, he fell straight to the ground, dead. 

Game over.

Sansa folded her lips in her mouth to keep from laughing, as she watched Sandor quietly stare at the screen as if his brain could not process what just happened. 

Brienne was far too good of a sport to brag, but Jaime wasn’t.

He shot up from the couch and shouted, “MY GIRLFRIEND DID IT! BRIENNE OF FUCKING TARTH! THE GREATEST KNIGHT THERE EVER WAS! SUCK IT, CLEGANE!” followed by shoving his crotch right in Sandor’s face. 

Sansa had never seen her boyfriend move so fast. The next thing she knew, Sandor had tackled Jaime to the ground and the two were wrestling on top of the now-broken coffee table. 

She and Brienne exchanged a look and shook their heads; it was futile to stop them.

After another minute of grappling and punching, Jaime finally yelled out, “I yield, bro! I yield!”

Both of them had disheveled hair and bleeding lips by the end of it, and Jaime’s right eye even started to swell.

As if none of that foolish nonsense had ever happened, Sandor held out his hand to Brienne and said, “Good game, Brienne of Tarth.”

“Let’s play one more match,” said Jaime casually, as he plopped down onto the couch and wiped the blood off his lip with the back of his sleeve. “The movie doesn’t start for another half hour.”

“No, we should leave now,” Brienne suggested, as she inspected Jaime’s blackening eye, frowning. “By the time we drive there, find parking, and get our seats, the movie will be starting.”

Jaime placed his hand on her thigh. “Brienne, Brienne. Everyone knows there’s fifteen minutes of previews before the actual movie.”

Her frown deepened, though Sansa could see her roommate’s striking blue eyes light up. They always did that when she looked at Jaime, even when she pretended to be angry. 

“Some of us enjoy the previews,” Brienne said, nudging his arm with her elbow.

Jaime looked confused. “What are you talking about? You and I just trade spit while the previews are on.”

A blush stole up Brienne’s cheeks. “We’ll meet you guys there,” she said to her and Sandor, before quickly standing up from the couch and making for the front door. 

While Sandor was busy picking up the broken wood off the floor and Jaime went to grab his car keys from his room, Brienne looked at her and silently mouthed, “Tell him now.”

Sansa gave a slight smile and nodded once. 

_This is it,_ she thought. _Time to reveal the big surprise._

Once Jaime and Brienne walked out the door, she watched Sandor carry the broken table onto the balcony and contemplated how she would tell him about their fun little getaway. 

Should she show him the the plane tickets on her phone and watch him figure it out? Should she have him guess, maybe even make a little game out of it? How would Brienne tell Jaime? Somehow, the girls never did discuss _how_ they would reveal the surprise. 

While she considered her options some more, Sandor walked over and sat beside her on the couch, clearing his throat. 

“Little bird,” he began, taking her hand in his, “before we go, I want to talk to you about something.”

The tone of his voice gave her pause, as did the way he was gripping her hand. 

Sansa’s mood went from ebullient to anxious in the span of two seconds. “Oh, alright. What is it?”

He cleared his throat. _Again_. “Jaime and I...we graduate in two weeks.”

Sansa absolutely hated being reminded of that. She had just gotten used to car pooling and walking to class with Sandor. Knowing she’d no longer be able to see him on campus was a depressing thought.

She sighed. “Yes, I know.” 

“And our lease ends the week after,” Sandor continued, almost awkwardly, “so we’ll be moving out.”

Was he _trying_ to dampen the mood? His cynicism had gotten better since they started dating, but even so, he _was_ still Sandor Clegane.

“Have you decided where you’ll be moving to?” she asked, feigning tranquility.

An ominous expression fell over his face. “ _He_ has.”

The implication took her by surprise. Internally screaming, she said, as sweetly as possible, “Oh, you’re not going to live together anymore?”

“No,” Sandor said, clearing his throat a third time. That was becoming vexing. Next time he did that, Sansa swore she’d grab a cup of water and force it down his throat. “We’ve lived together since we were boys and we’re both ready to...move on.”

_Move on?_

Her heart stuttered. Sansa could see where this was going - it was obvious. His face, the way he was squeezing her hand, how he was _excessively_ clearing his throat. 

_Oh gods, he’s moving out of the Crownlands._

Sansa looked down at her lap when she felt that dreaded stinging sensation in her eyes; it had been months since she last cried, and even longer since she last felt disappointed.

“So,” she finally said to break the lingering silence, “why haven’t you decided yet?” Sansa tried to ask the question in a nonchalant manner, but her voice quivered.

The hand on hers grew firmer. “I was waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” she sniffled, never looking up.

All of a sudden that large hand she loved so much was no longer in hers. She watched as Sandor took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket before handing it to her. 

“Go on, little bird. Read it.”

Sansa took it with a clammy hand and slowly unfolded it. Through the blurriness of her tears, she saw that the letterhead at the top was their university's colors and logo, a black stag on a field of gold. Her eyes skimmed past the heading and address and fell to where the body of the letter began.

She read the first line.

_‘Dear Sandor Clegane, Crownlands University is pleased to extend an offer to you for the position of Assistant Coach for the men’s football team.’_

When her eyes shot up, a tear rolled down her cheek.

Sandor wiped it away with his thumb. “Waiting for you, little bird,” he answered in his usual tone, no longer clearing his throat. “I want you to choose where we live.”

“W-what?”

“Move in with me.”

Sitting there with her eyes wide and lips parted, Sansa was truly speechless. She took a moment to digest the words, then said, “Really? But my lease...and Brienne…”

“Jaime’s asking her to move in with him as we speak,” Sandor quickly added. “Unless he’s got his tongue down her throat.”

The offer letter fell to the floor when she covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh gods, I can’t believe this.”

He chuckled. “Is that a yes?”

Sansa lowered her hands and jumped into his lap. “Of course it is!” She planted what had to be a hundred small, quick kisses on his lips. “Oh gods!”

“You’re chipper now, girl,” he grinned. “Why were you crying?”

“Oh gods, I was about to force a cup of water down your throat!”

Sandor snorted. “ _What_?”

“Oh gods!” It was all she could say. Sansa kissed him another hundred times and then broke away to look him in the eye, pleadingly. “Can we get a dog?”

“We’ll get two,” he said at once, as if he were expecting the question. “A Lady and a Stranger.”

“Oh, I love you!” Sansa smothered him again with one big kiss. 

Sandor kissed her back, twice as hard. “I love you, little bird.” His kisses became heavier, deeper, wetter, and then his strong hands were cinching her waist. “Gods, I’m going to fuck you all summer in our new place.”

The word made her gasp. “Oh, wait!” She pulled away and almost took his tongue with her. “That reminds me.”

His eyes were dark with lust. “Of what? That you want me to fuck you right now?” 

Sansa gave him a playful slap on the face. “Not _that_.” She never did come up with a clever way to tell him, so she just went for it - full throttle. “My parents bought us all plane tickets so we can visit them in Winterfell and go to the festival this summer. You’ll finally be able to meet them!”

Sandor stared at her as if she had just told him they should see other people. “Meet...your parents?”

She couldn’t help but giggle at his expression. “And my brothers and sister.”

He immediately frowned. “You mean that devil-child?”

It was just as she expected. _They’ll never get along._

“Her name’s _Arya_ ,” she corrected him.

“I’ve heard you talk to that devil-child on the phone. She sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“Sandor!” she tried to say sternly, but only laughed harder. 

“Alright, alright, little bird. We’ll go to Winterfell and visit your family.” His phone jingled then. When he took it out of his pocket and muttered a curse, she knew it could only be Jaime. “But first, we have a date.”

As if it pained him, he slowly lifted her off his lap and stood up. While he was preoccupied with turning off the game with his back facing her, Sansa looked at the time on her phone and was struck with an idea. 

An idea that was far too tempting to refuse.

“We _do_ have fifteen minutes to spare,” she mused, while slipping out of her dress. “And I never did care for the previews.”

As Sandor was walking over to grab his keys from the kitchen counter, he took a glance over his shoulder and then stumbled forward, tripping over one of the bar stools.

“Fuck!”

Sansa ran up, fully nude, and crouched down beside him. “Oh, are you alright?”

“I am now,” Sandor groaned, eyeing her breasts. 

“Then carry me to your room,” she simpered, brushing away the hair that had fallen over his face. “We don’t want to be late for our date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this story was a spur of the moment idea and I never thought it would be longer than four chapters. I really hope you enjoyed it, flaws and all! 
> 
> One of the things that I particularly loved about writing this fic was being able to chat with people from the Braime community. Although SanSan is my OTP and all of my fics are centered around them, I have really enjoyed being able to "meet" others who appreciate this ship. At the end of the day, we have fallen in love with the characters GRRM was so gracious to create, and all we want to do is see them love each other and bang - it's what brings us together. ♥
> 
> Also, did I just set myself up for a sequel? Yep.  
> Summer vacay in Winterfell, but it's not really a vacation? _The Unvacation_? Maybe I'll drop the "Un-" thing and think of something more clever haha.
> 
> I'm not sure yet when I'll start writing it, but I can't wait to explore Sandor and the devil-child totally not getting along, Jaime "making an ass out of himself" in front of Selwyn Tarth, and Jon Snow revealing that he's #1 in "Storm of Swords"/Azor Ahai. You already know Sandor and Jaime are going to go ape shit over that. And, if I'm brave enough, I might explore writing some chapters in Brienne or Jaime's pov. We'll see!
> 
> Again, thank you for reading! If you have an extra minute or two, I'd love to know what you thought about this story. ♥
> 
> **Connect with me!**   
>  [Follow me on Tumblr](https://thequeen--in--thenorth.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Follow me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/nikki_desil)


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